Ship of Fools
by Scies
Summary: A Novel. Featuring Cardassians, personal demons and an impossible mission... and there may be a sinister force at work aboard the Enterprise.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: I wrote this years ago, and it's been sitting on my computer ever since. Which may be a bit of a waste, because I like it. I've decided to upload it bit by bit, just in case there are other people who might enjoy it.

To all intents and purposes this is a traditional TNG novel of more or less average length, nothing out of the ordinary. It's rated T for some darkness and violence, and there's one whole scene that might be considered sexually suggestive.

In the TNG timeline this story would take place approximately between _Face of the Enemy_ and _Tapestry_. It doesn't fit in there, this mission takes too long for that, but I don't care. What's more important is that the events of _Chain of Command_ happened about three months ago, and that this is very, very definitely post-_Best of Both Worlds_. In fact, that's the whole point, if there is a point.

That's all, really. Have fun.

Oh, yes: Star Trek is the property of Paramount. This is a work of fan fiction, written solely for the pleasure of it. I am not making money here, and don't intend to.

-----------------------

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Prologue**

_Captain's Log, Stardate 46558.1_

_Despite the number of initial difficulties the final negotiations on Mavvion have been successfully concluded. I decided, at short notice and at the invitation of two of the parties concerned, to extend my stay yet again in order to witness the actual signing of the treaties. The experiences of the past have shown that the internal feuds of the people of Mavvion, rooted as they are in a maze of time-honored alliances and the conflicting claims of their ruling families, are all too likely to survive the best efforts of mediators. However, their known respect for anything put into formal language and sealed will hopefully prevent hostilities from breaking out again as soon as the ceremonies are over and actual changes are called for._

_The delay has made it impossible for me to personally escort the Federation ambassadors aboard the _Enterprise_ to the Fragan VI summit as planned. Instead, we will rendezvous with the flagship on its way back towards our interrupted charting assignment in the Hellicon Cluster._

The captain switched off his log and reached for the book he had been putting aside a few minutes earlier. Opening it, he directed a sidelong glance towards his pilot who at that moment was very intent upon the shuttlecraft's controls – and remained intent on them under the captain's scrutiny. The Mavvion mission had been a trying time for both of them, but Lieutenant Worf had fared the worse. Caught between his duty to protect his captain and the necessity of keeping a diplomatic facade, he had found their hosts' attitude, by turns devious, coolly dismissive and smugly ingratiating, exasperating in the last degree.

_And arrogant beyond belief_, thought the captain. Once or twice he had come close to shouting at the delegates to put aside their bickering over irrelevancies and stick to the issue. He had found out early that whenever their conviction of their own inherent superiority was challenged, the warring parties tended to close ranks fairly quickly and turn on the outsider instead. He had even managed to use that discovery towards his own end – that of achieving a lasting peace between the factions. Worf, however, had loathed the Mavvionians from the first moment, and they in turn had not bothered to conceal the fact that they considered him a savage. Worse still, he had warned the captain that a people as devoid of honor as their hosts would stoop to anything if they found the Federation envoy not to their liking – while Picard had maintained serenely that neither side would gain anything by an attempt to assassinate the mediator. And as if the fates had conspired against him, there had been one right at the beginning. After that Worf, every suspicion confirmed, had kept up an untiring watch over his captain that was as embarrassing as it was unhelpful for the negotiations, along with a subtle but unmistakable way of implying _I told you so_.

Another sidelong glance told the captain that Worf was now sitting with his arms crossed, impassively watching the starfield ahead. Of course he had overheard every word of the log entry, along with the fact that it didn't mention the exact nature of some of the _initial difficulties_. It was the captain's way of implying that he sympathized with the reactions of his security chief. Picard's lips twitched a little as he studied that craggy profile.

"It's over and done with, Lieutenant", he said quietly.

"I shall welcome the change", growled Worf, still unappeased. "Any change."

"Mr. Worf, the representatives of the Mavvionian official caste have a reputation for being pompous, xenophobic and arrogant, and they have certainly done their best to justify it in their behavior towards you. Frankly, I am not sure what they want with the Federation – or even what the Federation wants with them", he added ruefully. "Still, they did ask for a Federation representative to attend the finalising of those treaties, and they did say they'll apply for full membership as soon as they have sorted out their internal bureaucracy... whenever _that_ may be. So I suppose we acquitted ourselves well enough on the whole." He sighed. "Nevertheless..."

Worf braced himself. He had seen it coming.

"Your reactions to their offer of assistance – their entire security procedure – didn't exactly improve the atmosphere, Lieutenant. In fact there was one occasion when I thought for a moment that we had bungled it for good."

Worf didn't even pretend not to know which occasion the captain was referring to. "Sir, the official offered me a deliberate provocation by implying I could not guarantee your safety. After what had happened..."

"He offered his _assistance_", interrupted Picard sharply.

"With all due respect, Captain", said Worf, still speaking to the starfield, "I do not need the assistance of a man who might have caused your death by a foolish blunder. If it was a blunder."

"Which you don't believe anyway."

"No, sir. Neither do I believe in the sincerity of his offer. It was meant as an insult."

"Mr. Worf", Picard said a little wearily, "I wonder if it was really necessary to take it as such, and state your opinion in quite such a fashion."

"I would have been deficient in my duties had I not done so", stated Worf, turning his head for the first time. "Captain, these are people without honor. I could not allow them to believe that they had fooled me. It was your safety that was at stake, not just my... reputation," he concluded, returning to his contemplation of the starfield.

Picard looked up quickly. Had that been a flash of the humor Worf always maintained he didn't understand? The captain had had his doubts about that issue for quite some time now. There was no way of telling from Worf's expression, of course. And in any case this conversation was clearly going nowhere.

"Oh well, in that case they got more than they bargained for", he remarked. Mollified, Worf bent over his controls again. "Rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ in five hours twenty-seven minutes, sir", he announced. The captain nodded, turned a page, and became immersed in his book.

**- - - - - - - **

Haughtily dispensing with the tractor beam, Worf had brought the _Jungk_ into the _Enterprise'_s main shuttlebay with no apparent manoevring and proceeded to land her just as gracefully, switching off the engines the precise moment the shuttle touched the floor. He was a fine pilot, and with another fine pilot sitting in the adjacent seat he took some care to do a flawless job. The shuttlecraft settled down with just the slightest shiver.

There were people waiting outside in the hangar when Worf opened the aft door and stepped aside for the captain to precede him. Geordi La Forge was there, a couple of technicians in tow, and Commander Riker, feet apart, arms crossed and a grin on his face. As soon as the door opened he uncrossed his arms and came towards them with long, easy strides and his hand held out.

"Good evening to you, Captain. It's been quite a long two weeks. Showing off again, Worf?"

Worf straightened a little, giving Riker a brief look that passed for a greeting, and Picard was about to answer in kind when there was a distraction. A man had emerged from behind one of the shuttlecraft to look at them, and there was something so decidedly unnatural about his movements that all three of them turned their heads automatically to see what was amiss. A moment later he started towards them across the open space of the shuttlebay, slowly at first, as if uncertain of his own purpose, then faster, one arm raised and pointing ahead in a grotesquely accusatory gesture. After a very few steps he had broken into a run of sorts, and by now his movements were those of a drunkard or a man in a delirium. On he came, lurching and staggering; now the other arm came up as well, and there was a glint of metal in the outstretched hand.

Riker took two steps that placed him squarely in front of Picard, but even before that Worf had produced a phaser seemingly out of thin air, taken aim and fired, all in one single unhurried movement. The blast hit the man in midriff, stopping him in his tracks as if he had run into some solid obstacle, and sent him sprawling backwards. One of the technicians gave a belated shout of warning the moment before the body hit the floor.

"What the hell –", began Riker.

"Now what was that?" said the captain.

Riker hit his communicator. "Riker to sickbay. We have an emergency in the main shuttlebay. Heavy phaser stun. – Nice reaction, Worf", he added appreciatively.

Worf gave him another brief look before walking over to the unmoving body, phaser in hand, and staring down on the man. Then he bent and picked something up from the floor, studied it, frowned and presented it to Riker and the captain who had by now joined him.

"Laser welder, Commander", he said briefly. "It was on power."

"That would make quite an effective weapon." Riker turned the thing over in his hands, frowning in his turn. "I wonder if he really meant to use it on one of us. Geordi, you know the man?"

La Forge approached, visibly shaken. "Sure. That's Galinski. Supposed to be doing some work on shuttle six over there. I just don't understand – what got into him all of a sudden?"

"Yes, that's something I'd like to know too", said Riker somewhat grimly. He was still looking at the laser welder. "I've never seen anybody act quite like that. There had better be a very good explanation – it just shouldn't happen on this ship." He looked up, managing a crooked grin. "Sorry for that. I _was_ going to say, welcome home, Captain."

- - - - - - - - - -


	2. Chapter 2

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 01**

"There's one thing, sir", said Commander Riker without preamble, dropping into the chair in front of the ready room desk. Picard, behind it, put the padd he had been holding away. Riker was supposed to bring him up to date on ship's business, no doubt a lengthy task after an absence of more than two weeks – but evidently something else was taking precedence.

"Yes?" said the captain, eyebrows raised. "Disaster?"

"Well, that's... not _exactly_. It's just so ridiculous, I was going to tell you yesterday, but I thought – well, it seems we've misplaced Data somehow."

"Misplaced Data?" echoed Picard. "Could you explain that to me, Will?"

"Well, that's just the problem. What it amounts to is that he didn't show up for his shift yesterday, didn't answer when we tried to contact him, turned out not to be in his quarters, _or_ anywhere else, and has been missing since. He's been taking more time off lately, of course – well, that's what we've told him to do for ages – but this... "

Picard frowned. "Wait a moment, Will. When did you notice this?"

"Yesterday, about two hours after he should have turned up. That's about an hour before your arrival. I haven't been on the bridge much all day – seems Lavelle noticed early on that he wasn't there but never thought of informing anybody. Can't say that I blame him, Captain. I mean, this is Data – you just don't expect anything to be wrong with him."

"You never told me", observed Picard.

"True. I'm sorry, sir. To be honest, I didn't take it seriously either at first. Then you were coming back, and we had Galinski going berserk on us. I tried to find out what had happened there, and frankly, Captain, by the time I was finished I fully expected Data to be back at his station with some very simple explanation. He wasn't. That's when I should have informed you, I suppose, but to tell you the truth I was feeling like an idiot, and you were asleep by then –"

"That was known to you how?" Picard interrupted, torn between concern, confusion and, in spite of himself, a growing sense of the absurdity of the situation.

Riker grimaced. "Asked Deanna. I'm sorry, sir. I just couldn't bring myself to wake you with 'My apologies, Captain, but I forgot to tell you that we're minus the ship's second officer for reasons unknown' – I was still sort of expecting that very simple explanation to pop up any moment. Damn it all, this is ridiculous!"

Picard frowned. "I take it that you conducted a search by now?"

"Course we did. We've been at it for hours."

"What about the holodecks?"

"No such luck."

"The shuttlecraft?"

"All accounted for." Riker's grin was singularly crooked. "A _shipwide_ search, Captain. He's not here."

Picard drew a deep breath. "I am afraid I don't quite understand, Number One."

"No, Captain." The grin had disappeared. "Same here."

"Very well", the captain said after a pause. "What do you have?"

"Well, basically we've turned everything upside down, and I'm running out of ideas. Oh, and the computer just insists he is not aboard, which is absurd. Data being what he is, if he _wanted_ to disappear he could be anywhere. Stores, Engineering, you name it – only Geordi tells me we've looked there as well, of course."

"Ridiculous", muttered Picard. "So you are suggesting that he lost his bearings, his mind and his communicator, all at the same time?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, sir. I just don't know."

Picard looked up sharply. There was a rasp of impatience in Riker's voice that was oddly out of character. A moment later the first officer had become aware of it himself. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm... well, it's just possible we're all a bit stressed out after those two weeks. I'm worried about this, and I suppose I should have told you straight away, or at least the moment I remembered it after that Galinski guy and his welder. As I said, I was hoping it would resolve itself. I feel like an idiot about it."

"Very well," said Picard, again. "It's not a situation you would normally expect to encounter, to put it mildly. Oh, and Will, what –"

The door chimed before the captain could finish his sentence. "Come", he called with a touch of impatience.

Lieutenant Benedetto from Astrophysics came striding in with his usual disregard for social graces, acknowledging Riker with a bare nod and coming to a halt directly in front of the captain's desk. Picard craned his neck as he looked up into the square-jawed visage. "Something important, I take it, Lieutenant."

Irony of this kind was wasted on Benedetto. "Yes, sir. I thought you'd want to know about this straight away. There's been an accident."

Picard and Riker exchanged a glance. A serious accident, obviously.

"Yes?"

"Crewman Myers, sir. He's been killed. In a holodeck program."

The captain looked at him a little blankly – as if Benedetto had been telling a particularly tasteless joke, perhaps. Then he stated with a slight edge to his voice: "You cannot get killed in a holodeck program, Lieutenant."

"Well, sir, you can if you fall and manage to break your neck on the floor. It's a chance of about one to ten thousand, and he took it." Somewhat belatedly, Benedetto added another "Sir."

"Oh my God", said the captain.

_I don't believe this_, thought Riker. _First day back first thing in the morning. That's really made everybody's day now_. He rose rather abruptly. "I'll have a look at this. Carry on, Lieutenant, I'll join you right away."

There was a moment's silence after the astrophysicist had left.

"Damn," Riker said finally. "Well, I'd better get going. There was something else you were going to ask?"

"What? Oh, that. It's not important. Keep me posted."

"Will do, Captain", said Riker, hesitated for another moment, and left.

**- - - - - - -**

Outside, on the bridge, Lieutenant Worf had been running a few checks on the tactical console. He, too, had been briefed as soon as he turned up for his shift, and on matters tactical Singh had had nothing unusual to report. Still, Worf liked to see the evidence with his own eyes. Two weeks gave everything plenty of time to go wrong (the android's disappearance being a case in point), and in his heart of hearts he felt certain that nobody did... that nobody _could_ do his job with quite the dedication he brought to it. Not Singh, not N'Guyn, not Walser, not one among his hand-picked and carefully trained subordinates.

And there, as if he hadn't known, there it was. His eyes locked on to it with a kind of grim satisfaction. There was a spike coming up on the internal sensor power consumption display, a tiny one, but it was not supposed to be there at all – not on this of all consoles. Admittedly, if that was all that had gone unnoticed Singh had done a good job. It meant, however, that he had been right to check, and that some more checking was called for. He keyed in a few commands, and after a couple of seconds the computer came up with the results of a level-five self-diagnostic of the internal sensor system. According to this, the system was working perfectly.

Of course it was. Worf hadn't been expecting anything else. If Singh had been liable to present him with anything less than perfect results on his return he wouldn't have been his immediate subordinate.

He ordered a level-four diagnostic of the sensors next, instructing the computer to point out any irregularities of any kind, and went through the particulars step by step. It took some time, and when he was finished he had been presented with a system in virtually flawless working order. He had left nothing out, and there was no hitch, no malfunction, nothing.

There was no explanation for the little spike in the power consumption graph either.

Worf frowned, considering this; then, keeping his eyes on the readouts, he addressed the intercom.

"Computer, locate Chief Engineer La Forge."

"The chief engineer is in Cargobay II."

"Computer, locate Commander Riker."

Heads snapped round all over the bridge. "But Mr. Worf, the commander is in the read–," started Ensign Lavelle, currently occupying the command chair, and stopped at Worf's impatient gesture.

"The commander is in the ready room."

"Computer, locate Doctor Selar."

"Doctor Selar is in her quarters."

Worf thought for a moment. Then: "Worf to La Forge."

"La Forge here. What's the matter, Worf?"

"Something appears to be wrong with the internal sensors. They are working, but there is a delay that should not be there, and I am reading a small power surge every time I use them."

"I'll have a look as soon as we've sorted out this mess here. – Hey! Put that right back, okay? We don't want a gas alarm on top of everything. – Sorry, Worf. Lots of work down here. You can tell, can't you? I'll be back in a minute."

Worf frowned. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. It's all right, really, just cleaning up" – and La Forge's harassed voice stopped abruptly as the link was broken.

Ensign Lavelle twisted round in the command chair again. "I never noticed any delay just now, sir."

Worf stared down on him haughtily. "I did."

When it came to a choice between trusting a computer and trusting his senses, he would trust his senses. After all, even the main computer of Starfleet's flagship would only answer what questions were actually asked it, and check what it had been programmed to check. A machine, if a marvelous one. One could come to trust too much in machines, to give up too much control. Long before anything as specific as a question could be asked there was such a thing as _sensing_ a deviation from the normal, an elusive quality of the mind, the sort of thing that told him of an approaching danger a moment before it became a threat to his life or the lives of those entrusted to him, the sort of thing that had made him a warrior when training had made him an officer...

Instinct?

Instinct.

Just then Lieutenant Benedetto emerged from the ready room, lingering for a few moments by the door after it had closed and surveying the bridge, undeterred by the frosty stare he encountered from Lavelle, before he retreated towards the turbolift. There was a snicker from the Ops chair. "He again", commented Ensign Maeno as soon as the doors had closed behind the astrophysicist.

"Has he been here before?" Worf asked.

Lavelle grinned. "He just can't keep away from the bridge. Three times last week I think. He's asking for trouble."

The door of the ready room swished open again, and Lavelle almost shot out of the command chair as Riker appeared. The first officer waved him back.

"Stay where you are, Mr. Lavelle. I won't want that chair right now. Status?"

"En route to the Hellicon Cluster at warp six, sir. All systems functioning normally."

Worf caught Riker's look and nodded briefly.

"Very well," said Riker. "Carry on."

**- - - - - - -**

In Main Engineering, Geordi La Forge was issuing instructions to Lieutenant Barclay, his own shift nearly over, when his communicator beeped.

"Picard to La Forge. Report to the bridge, please."

"On my way, sir", Geordi replied, then switched his communicator off. "Well, well. You can tell things are back to normal, can't you."

"Sir?" Lieutenant Barclay asked in some confusion. "Normal?"

"Are you referring to Commander Data?" inquired Gomez.

"No. I bet _he_'ll be, though", said Geordi with a slight jerk of his chin towards the ceiling. "Hey, you want to be a bit more gentle with those sliding controls, Barry, the way you're handling them you may end up with distorted readings. There, just look at _that_ one. If that was true we'd have a real problem. Try again... like that, see... yes, that's much better. You might want to check this one as well, it looks a bit off to me... there... No, I was referring to the vacation that's just come to an end."

"Sir?" Barclay said again. There were surprised looks from a couple of crew members who happened to be within hearing. Geordi flashed Barclay a good-humored grin.

"Nothing. Forget it", he said, placed his empty coffee mug on the pad of the replicator, and sauntered towards the turbolift.

"Problems in Engineering, Mr. La Forge?" the captain asked when Geordi walked into the ready room. The chief engineer gave him a surprised look.

"Not to my knowledge, sir – why d'you ask?"

"Only because it took you an unprecedented nine minutes to get up here", Picard replied with a very slight smile.

"I'm sorry, sir. Did the mission on Mavvion go well?"

"Fairly well, thank you. I think you would have enjoyed their idea of engineering."

"Why's that, Captain?"

"They are obsessed with failsafes. They have backups for every least thing, and then some. And backups for those, of course." The captain put down the padd he had been casually looking at, and Geordi wiped the appreciative grin from his face. It was bound to come now.

"This business about Data – I confess I don't understand it. You still haven't found an answer, have you? What exactly have you done to retrieve him?"

"Well, we've been looking, of course," said Geordi. "In just about all the likely places. The computer keeps telling us he's not on this ship."

"As there seems to be no shuttlecraft missing, I assume there is some mistake. May I suggest looking in the unlikely places as well? And checking the computer for malfunctions? For my part I think it a cause for concern when my second officer – your friend, Mr. La Forge – disappears in this way."

Geordi's face grew noticeably more serious. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it. And you have my report, too – everything we have tried so far."

"Yes, yes, but this is a priority matter. I'd like to be kept informed about your progress. There was some... activity in Cargobay II earlier today I heard, but I take it it's solved."

"Well, strictly speaking it was just cleaning up left over from our last ferry assignment. Those three Ory delegates – they required a fairly high level of somium in their drinking water. We had a supply of it stored in the cargobay and lowered the temperature accordingly – it becomes unstable over twelve degrees Celsius. Well, after they had left we raised the temperature to normal, and today there was a _bang_, and we discovered that a cask of the stuff had been left behind. It was all over the place."

"Any danger?"

"Oh, no. In itself it's quite harmless. I wouldn't want it in _my_ drinks, though – the smell of it is bad enough. And it did set off a gas alarm after all."

Picard nodded. "Now that is sorted out, you have your work cut out for you. Could you..." The voice trailed off. The captain was looking at something just over Geordi's right ear, a slight frown gathering on his face. "Mr. La Forge, what _is_ that thing you are wearing?"

"Oh, that!" Geordi laughed. "I'm sorry. My shift's supposed to be over. It's a gadget – it's fairly popular in Engineering right now. Counselor Troi has been recommending it a lot lately. It's good for your peace of mind, she says, and after having those diplomats aboard for almost two weeks it's been in some demand."

"I see", the captain said dryly.

"In fact, it's quite amazing. I don't know about the psychological subtleties, of course, but I actually find I am enjoying things more than I used to. Work included." Geordi paused, then added with an amused shrug: "I shouldn't be at all surprised if she recommended it to you next, sir. She says it's the sort of thing that might take some work off a ship's counselor. If you ever feel like trying it out..."

"Thank you, Mr. La Forge. I may. Right now, could we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Certainly, Captain." There was a hint of disappointment in Geordi's voice. "As I said, I'll check the computer and run another sweep. Although there was no indication of anything wrong with it the first time."

"Obviously there _is_ something wrong, though," replied Picard. It came out more sharply than he would have wished. Geordi nodded.

"Yes. I'm sorry, sir. I'll see to it immediately."

"Thank you. That'll be all for now."

Geordi nodded again and left, asking the turbolift to take him back to Engineering. Barclay turned from a console when he heard the lift doors swish open, giving his superior one of his quick, slightly nervous grins. Geordi grinned back at him and made his way aft to the warp core. The pillar was thrumming steadily, like the heartbeat of some huge living thing – which of course, in a way, it was. He never grew tired of the sound. A thing of beauty, and a joy forever – you could get lost in the sight. He started a little when a voice said just behind him: "I thought your shift was over, Commander."

"What?" said Geordi, turning rather abruptly. It was Gomez, looking at him with her head tilted to one side. "Why, yes, sure. It is. Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome", she said with her radiant smile.

**- - - - - - -**

Jean-Luc Picard, dining by himself in his quarters, was a little surprised when the door chimed – but he had a fairly clear idea who the visitor would turn out to be. "Come", he said, pushing the remainder of his sashimi, chopsticks and all, to one side. Counselor Troi walked in, tilting her head slightly at the sight of the tablet and wrinkling her nose. "Not Earl Grey tea this time, Captain."

"No. It's Japanese green tea, or the closest equivalent to it."

"Am I interrupting your dinner?"

"No, I'm finished." He indicated a chair. "What can I do for you, Counselor?"

"Well", said Troi, gracefully settling into the chair and crossing one leg over the other, "I had a feeling that you were rather... upset over something earlier this day."

"I'm relieved it took a Betazoid to sense that", he said dryly.

Troi smiled. "Also worried, somewhat confused, and rather tired. The Mavvionians took it out of you. What are they like?"

"Very tall, very thin, very pale-skinned – bluish, actually. Refined and elegant. A human adopting their manner would appear intolerably affected. Smooth-spoken and leaving you in no doubt that they are lowering their standards because of you. And very fond of their etiquette."

"They have a very strict code of honor I'm told."

"Worf wouldn't agree. He informed me that childish insistence on the minutiae of protocol has nothing to do with true honor, that arrogance and vanity don't amount to pride, that..."

Troi almost laughed outright. "Now I understand. You... clashed."

"All the way," the captain said a little ruefully. "And I don't even blame him – some of those people were insufferable. I just can't get used to being watched over twenty-four hours a day. Or even, in the case of Mavvion, twenty-nine hours a day. I couldn't push my chair back without pushing it onto Worf's toes. He made the delegates nervous, too. It was one of those occasions where I really would have needed _you_ in two places at once. I hope you didn't have any more problems with those Federation envoys?"

"Considering how many of them there were, not more than expected", Troi replied diplomatically. "Although you may find that tension is running a little high on the ship. As for myself... well, the woman from Delb II was perhaps a little trying. Very convinced of the importance of her mission. Those ambassadors can become so full of themselves, Captain."

"Don't I know it. Remind me of that should I ever be tempted to try it myself."

"I promise I will." She gave him a warm smile. "Now for you, sir."

"What is it about me?"

"You are quite exhausted. You didn't eat much, and you slept even less – yes, Captain, I _can_ tell. It's not just empathy; I have been with you on similar occasions. The Mavvionians got on your nerves, and you were worried that the mission would be a complete failure. And now there are some unanswered questions, and there has been a death, and it is troubling you deeply. Even more than it would normally, in fact. You really could do with some rest."

"I'll be fine as soon as I get over the shore lag. Anyway, we have a charting assignment we have barely started on. That should be restful enough." His smile faded, slowly to be replaced by a frown. "Although I confess that I dread contacting Myers' relatives. And I _would_ feel happier if I had any idea what happened to Data."

"You won't find out. Not tonight. If it was any use I would tell you to stop worrying about Data. It's almost impossible for anything to _happen_ to him, after all."

"Of course. Oh, there was something else I would like to know. That man in the shuttlebay – Galinski, I believe –"

"Who went berserk with a laser welder? Beverly told me about it. I haven't been able to talk to him so far, but I certainly will." She got to her feet. "I'll stop getting in the way of my own advice and let you get some rest. But I would like to be told more about the things I missed on Mavvion, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Tomorrow. Sleep well, Captain."

Picard waited until the door had slid close behind her; then he went over to his private terminal. "Computer, call up service record of Myers, Wayne, Crewman First Class."

The computer chirped and complied, and Picard sat down and swiveled the terminal to a convenient reading position.

It was a worry not to know where Data was, and to be powerless to do anything about it. It was bad enough never to know all the people serving on the _Enterprise_. It felt worse not to have known the man who had just died aboard her.

**- - - - - - -**

Lieutenant Worf in the meantime was making his way to a holodeck. His shift over, he had time to do something about the feeling of restless frustration that had been growing in him for almost two weeks now. He knew only too well what it was that had been missing of late.

"Calisthenics time?" asked Lieutenant Rickett, coming the other way just as Worf was calling up the holodeck menu. The Klingon gave a curt nod.

"Some people", remarked Rickett, "would take it easy after a two-week away mission."

"That is what I am going to do." Worf rather liked the stellar cartographer, one reason being that Rickett was a formidable opponent with a singlestick. "I have been looking forward to it."

Rickett had been about to move on, but now he stopped again. "You actually _missed_ those exercises?"

"I missed an opponent worth the effort," growled Worf. "I cannot fight gibberish!"

"Oh – I see," said Rickett rather quickly, and went his ways. Worf heaved a sigh of relief. For him, the Mavvion mission had been a nerve-racking combination of constant alertness and forced inactivity. Having to endure the local functionaries dancing attendance on their own superiority while depending on the Federation envoy to settle their disputes for them had been bad enough. It made him want desperately to give them something to worry about. They were _asking_ for it. Uncooperative, haughty, condescending even towards the captain, who never appeared to notice – although he hadn't quite fooled Worf, who knew from long experience what to look out for. But there had been that attempt on the captain's life as well, and from then onwards Worf had been hovering over Picard's chair, glowering at the representatives and longing for a decent fight, for some opportunity to pay them back for their supercilious holier-than-thouness in a manner that wouldn't allow them to hide behind their cheap excuses of polish and sophistication. Sophistication indeed. Worf had an inbred loathing for decadence.

The opportunity hadn't presented itself, of course, but Worf knew he would be feeling better for some make-believe in combination with very real physical exertion. In fact when the holodeck door opened upon his combat scenario, dank mist swirling around some half-ruined structures, he considered for a moment programming in Mavvionian adversaries. Then he dismissed the idea. The surroundings were inappropriate, and he had a feeling that Mavvionians probably preferred things like poisoned darts or bioengineered viruses – methods below a warrior's contempt, although Worf was dedicated professional enough to have made a thorough study of them. No. He preferred his scenarios to bear some resemblance to some reality, somewhere. After all, this was serious work, and his warrior skills and instincts much too valuable to be trifled with.

He took a deep breath, and went in.

**- - - - - - -**


	3. Chapter 3

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 02**

Something was wrong.

Jean-Luc Picard was sitting in his command chair, his eyes on the starfield closing in endlessly on the main viewscreen, and trying to figure out what it was that had been bothering him ever since he got up in the morning. It should have been calming, almost restful to be back in that chair, cruising towards the Hellicon Cluster at warp six. He should be feeling at home. The bridge was quiet, the steady hum of the engines barely audible. Riker had gone off to the stellar cartography department to evaluate some personnel transfer request; Troi was sitting in her chair, one leg crossed over the other and both hands cupped round her knee, looking serene. No bickering, no posing, no lengthy, pompous and deadly serious balancing of some point of prestige against another. Nothing required him to rack his weary brain for a solution to some tangled conflict of interests he privately thought too trivial for words. After two weeks of it, he should have been at peace.

But that morning he had woken with a trace of a headache and a slightly foggy feeling that told him he hadn't been sleeping particularly well. Then the various unresolved issues of the previous day had come back to him, and ever since then he had been aware of a nagging restlessness at the back of his mind, a faint persistent worry that retreated further every time he tried to analyze it but would not go away.

At first, of course, he had assumed that it was Data's continuing absence and the ridiculous fact that they seemed to be unable to find either Data himself or some explanation for his disappearance. At some stage he had realized with a slight start that his missing second officer was not at the core of it at all. Rather, his mind would continue to treat this as an additional worry on the edges of his thought, returning to it every once in a while and veering off again in frustration, in search of he didn't know what. There was something waiting to be hit upon, something always just beyond his grasp. He was overlooking something. It might well continue to elude him as long as he kept searching for it, to emerge the moment he turned his thoughts elsewhere, and at the same time that sense of urgency drove him on. For some reason time was a factor here. He _knew_ that something was wrong.

He had looked through the reports his officers had prepared for him, and they had shown nothing out of the ordinary except for some very minor malfunction in the internal sensor system. Neither had they (there it was again) come up with anything that might have explained Data's absence.

He was tempted to call for a detailed diagnostic of all systems, and at the same time he felt certain that nothing helpful would be forthcoming if he did. Every sense including that elusive thing called captain's hunch told him that there was nothing the matter with his ship, and he could trust those senses he knew. And yet.

Picard could feel Counselor Troi's thoughtful look on his face. Whatever it was she had been thinking about earlier, he now had her full attention – and now he came to consider it he felt certain that she had been watching him for the last five minutes at least. He had been so absorbed in thought, he must have been an open book to her.

Quite suddenly he had enough. This was getting ridiculous. He could find some work to do in the ready room instead of letting his counselor watch him slowly drive himself to distraction.

He was about to get up when there was an interruption.

"Captain", Worf's distinctive deep voice said from behind and above him. "Subspace message coming in for you from Starbase 109. It is classified."

Picard rose, mechanically tugging down his uniform tunic. "In my ready room."

He could feel at least two pairs of eyes in his back as he retreated towards his sanctum. His preoccupation must have been very obvious indeed, he noted with slightly exasperated amusement.

The Starfleet emblem on the small viewscreen on Picard's desk gave way to the massive gray head and impressive moustache of Admiral Arcadio Juarez.

"Well, Jean-Luc. You're not looking too bad for someone who's just survived two weeks on Mavvion food and conversation. Are they still serving that vinegary pink vegetable they used to make such a cult of in my day?"

"I may have come across it", replied the captain with a slightly perfunctory smile, instinctively bracing himself. He had known Juarez for years, and when the admiral opened a conversation in this way he was trying to take the edge off whatever was to follow. "I didn't know you have been there."

"Twenty years ago – when they first requested information on Federation membership." Juarez grimaced. "I was the one who supplied it. I'll bet they've spent the time since then quarrelling about whether or not to apply. Some addition to our ranks, don't you think? Anyway," said the admiral, abruptly coming to the point, "I have some news for you. A new assignment, in fact."

"Again? Admiral, we've been taken off our present assignment once before. The Hellicon Cluster..."

"Will have to remain uncharted for a little while longer, I'm afraid." Juarez smiled. "You'll just have to curb your insatiable thirst for entertainment, Jean-Luc." The smile disappeared. "In fact I don't expect you to enjoy this, but we have a reason for picking you. I want you to go to the Mount Nebula and wait for a Cardassian negotiator who will join you there in approximately four to five days. He'll have something to offer us no doubt, and he'll want something in return. Unfortunately there is very little we can tell you in advance. We want you to steer us through this."

"Oh, is that all", said Picard.

"Almost. His name is Gul Dravek. Starfleet Intelligence has verified there is such a person, for what it's worth. Member of the Obsidian Order, resident on Cardassia Prime, distinguished record and so on. We're transmitting the particulars right now. I'd better tell you straight away that there have been problems already. The man who was to arrange it in the first place is dead, and we haven't been able to contact Dravek since. Obviously, we don't trust him, and he doesn't trust us either – though he did ask for someone _trustworthy_ to meet him. Which probably means not somebody from Starfleet Intelligence. On the other hand we have reason to believe that this could turn out to be fairly important."

"Important enough to put the _Enterprise_ on the line."

"In fact, yes. It's a gesture of goodwill."

"I see", said the captain, very dryly.

"Quite." The admiral sighed. "I _said_ you're not going to enjoy this. But if it is for real you're not going to mess it up either, which is more than we could say about... well. There are quite a few unweighables in this, and relations with the Cardassians being what they are right now... the long and the short of it is, you're the best person for the job. You've done this sort of thing before, you'll know how to go about it. We're giving you a wide latitude. Oh, and there's another thing. Officially, of course, you _are_ in the Hellicon Cluster."

"Indeed."

"We hope we can pull this off without attracting any more undue attention. So, no subspace communication. Keep sensor activity to a minimum. The Mount Nebula will play havoc with your sensors anyway, but at least while you're there you'll be as well hidden as anybody else."

"Let me make sure I understand you correctly, Admiral", said the captain, almost interrupting. "I am to take the _Enterprise_ to a place that will virtually eliminate our sensors, there to meet with a Cardassian ship and a man who may or may not be Gul Dravek, and who will or will not aid the Federation in some unspecified way in return for something he hasn't named so far. We will not be able to verify anything whatsoever once we are there, and if anything goes wrong we'll be on our own as Starfleet officially doesn't even know about this."

All of a sudden Admiral Juarez looked as if he had swallowed something very rancid indeed. "You have an inimitable way of putting things, Jean-Luc. You're making me feel like some bully of a desk jockey. But yes, those are your orders. Believe me, I'm not very happy about them."

"Well, neither am I", Picard shot back. "Is there _nothing_ more you can tell me about this mission?"

"We're transmitting what information we have this moment. It's not much. Sorry for that." With a little effort, Admiral Juarez grew jovial once again. "Look at it this way – if this was less of a mess we wouldn't need to take you off your charting assignment, would we?"

The captain didn't even try to smile this time. "Understood", he said stiffly.

"I'm sure it is. Good luck, Jean-Luc. Juarez out." And the Starfleet emblem reappeared on a bright blue screen.

Picard sat there with his chin on his fist, frowning. _Here goes the Hellicon cluster. Again_. He found that he had actually been looking forward to getting back there. The cluster featured several rather spectacular gas giants, and... oh, well. He was aware of a sinking feeling in his stomach as he summoned his senior officers to the observation lounge.

**- - - - - - -**

"Great", said Riker. "Just what we needed."

"Cardassians!" snarled Worf, just loud enough for everybody to hear, and soft enough for the captain to pretend he didn't.

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Doctor Beverly Crusher with an air of resignation.

Geordi La Forge said nothing. There were the beginnings of a frown gathering above his visor.

Deanna Troi said nothing either, merely looking from one face to the next with a faint rueful smile. There was no doubt about the emotional state of the minds all around; it would have been obvious even to a non-Betazoid.

"How long are we expected to wait for this Gul Dravek?" asked Riker.

"He should be arriving in about four to five days, more or less. We could be there earlier than that, but I suggest we take our time – I would prefer not to be sitting in that nebula any longer than we have to."

"I don't understand it, sir. It sounds like the sort of thing you'd want to give a wide berth. No reliable information. They don't even know for sure there's anything to be gained. They must be _hoping_ for an awful lot. Unless, of course, there's something they prefer to keep to themselves."

"It may be just what the admiral says – a diplomatic gesture", Dr. Crusher said thoughtfully. "Relations with the Cardassians are about as bad as they could be, short of actual war. Sending the _Enterprise_ before we know anything definite _is_ a gesture of trust."

Riker frowned. "Quite an elaborate one, Doctor. From what we've heard this is supposed to be secret – officially, anyway. Wouldn't something less conspicuous than the _Enterprise_ do the job perfectly well?"

"Inofficially, they'll know soon enough who is meeting Dravek", countered Crusher. "And if he really asked for somebody trustworthy, well, if you consider the Maxwell affair the captain _is_ the obvious candidate. Let's face it, Will, the Federation hasn't been a model of good manners either lately."

"No reason to fall for every bait some Cardassian dangles before our noses. Hell, I doubt anybody even _remembers_ the Maxwell affair after Minos Korva. After the mess we made of that one you'd think Starfleet would be a bit more cautious."

"They are", said Picard mildly. "From what I have just been told, that's precisely why they are sending us, and in this manner."

"Oh, well. As long as I'm not forced to work with a diplomatic genius like the last one we've been inflicted with – begging your pardon, Captain", said Riker rather viciously. "Feed him the cues for his damn blustering act and feel like an absolute bastard all the..."

"Will", interrupted Picard, a little startled. He hadn't quite realized how deep the resentment was running in his first officer.

"I think we're all agreed on that point, Will", Troi put in.

"Hardly", muttered Worf.

"Well, what if this _is_ simply a trap?" Riker said bluntly.

Picard winced a little. He had had the same thought, of course, and had called himself to order with a fierce reminder not to get paranoid just because Starfleet had sent him into a Cardassian trap once.

"It would be rather too obvious, wouldn't it?"

Riker shrugged. "Whatever works. This one might work _because_ it's so obvious. I wouldn't put it past them – and we're already obliging them, aren't we. If that nebula is as bad as Juarez says we won't notice an approaching ship until we can practically see it from the windows. What's to stop them from sending not one but two or three?"

"Nothing", said Worf, managing to convey his opinion of the whole undertaking in the one word.

"Agreed. But there is nothing we can do about it. I want a full diagnostic of all systems before we get there, and regular checks after that. And could you –" Picard swiveled his chair to the right and stopped abruptly when he realized he had been about to address Data. "This is intolerable. Mr. La Forge, have you _still_ found nothing?"

Geordi raised both hands in a gesture of utter perplexity. "I don't know what to say, Captain. The answer's no, obviously, but I feel such an idiot about it."

"Mr. Worf, then – please find out what there is to be known about the Mount Nebula, and if possible if there are any reasons why this Cardassian would want to meet us there of all places. If I remember correctly the alloys they use in their hulls are quite different from ours, perhaps that nebula will do something to this ship that it won't do to theirs. I'd also like to know what kind of sensor interference we can expect. And then you could join Mr. La Forge in his search for Data; together you may come up with something."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we can try", said Geordi without much conviction.

"Captain, I would suggest maintaining a standing yellow alert from the moment we reach our destination. We should be on our guard."

"We will be, Mr. Worf. It's all we can do, under the circumstances."

"I don't like this one bit", said Riker.

"I'm well aware of that, Number One, and I suspect you're not alone. Unfortunately, those are Starfleet's orders. That will be all for now, gentlemen. Dismissed."

He watched them rise and file past his chair, sitting there with his chin on his hand and waiting for the moment he would have the lounge to himself.

Picard tended to regard anything that looked like premonition with scepticism. But there was no mistaking the feeling he had about this assignment. Or rather, it might be a feeling not about the assignment itself, but... there was that worry again as if it had never been forgotten, stronger than before if anything. Something wrong. Something _very_ wrong. Data? No, not Data. At least not just Data. And the same thought again circling back on itself. _Damn_, he thought despairingly.

A moment later he realized that it must have come out as a sigh, or something like one, for there was the sound of a slight but demonstrative movement behind his back. He looked round, and there was Riker still hovering near the door, apparently uncertain whether to leave the captain to his thoughts or address whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Yes, Will."

"I've been looking into this holodeck accident. You won't like it."

"I don't like anything about it." The captain straightened in his chair, and Riker slid back into his usual seat on Picard's left.

"I have Benedetto's report here. The whole thing is perfectly straightforward. Myers was into big game hunting, with a preference for the Acorican fauna. You know – those scaly six-legged affairs, and the ones that look like a Styllian _garubb_ with poisonous spikes all over them. He slipped, came down flat on his back, and broke his neck. The program played itself out. Nurse Andrews found him when she wanted to start her own program and got him to sickbay, but by that time there was nothing they could do for him. Just a totally pointless accident, but there is nothing suspicious about it."

"Still – there must be some explanation. It just doesn't happen this way. There must be _something_ unusual about it all."

"Well, there is", Riker said thoughtfully. "But frankly I don't seem to be able to make a connection. Benedetto's been disparaging, but then that's his way. He says Myers has been acting a little strange these days – weird is the word he used. I've verified that, for what it's worth. Apparently Myers walked around silently grinning to himself and not paying attention, and he did push up the program's difficulty level – right up to maximum. Nothing to do with his death, though. The safeguards were working all right." Riker took one look at the captain's face and added: "I'm sorry."

"So am I." A pause. "Why would Myers behave like that? Was anything wrong?"

Riker shrugged. "That's all I got out of Benedetto – but then he hasn't been aboard very long, and he's not exactly the perceptive sort anyway. And Myers was a technician, not a scientist – he just happened to be working on Astrophysics equipment. Deanna says he was quite stable and cheerful normally. Quite extrovert, a little showy. And Dr. Crusher has confirmed the cause of death. We've been looking up his personal log, but he had made no entries recently, and he didn't use it much anyway. There is nothing to work on."

"Now where have I heard that before", said Picard.

Riker heaved himself out of his chair. "I'll ask Deanna to talk to some of his friends, and I'll try to get a little more information from Benedetto. And then we'd better get those diagnostics going. I'm really looking forward to doing them without Data. If I find anything else that can go wrong I'll inform you straight away."

In fact he himself had already been talking to Nurse Andrews and anybody else he could think of. The result reminded him uncannily of his efforts to find out about Data's whereabouts – there was no apparent handle to the problem. While he was at it he would also have a word with Benedetto about occasions that justified appearing on the bridge in person, and appropriate behavior on those occasions that did, but he wasn't going to bother the captain with that. Benedetto's habit of pushing his way onto the bridge on the slightest excuse had irritated him for the best part of the past two weeks. The man was a nuisance. Unfortunately, Myers' death _had_ been a good reason to report in person, the first good reason Benedetto had ever found, and Riker felt that although the rebuke was overdue, and amply deserved, the timing would be less than perfect. It was one more detail that was annoying him. Somehow, at the moment, things weren't working out the way they were supposed to.

The bridge was quiet as before. He discovered Worf bending over one of the science stations, his expression more forbidding than usual. Well, he hadn't expected him to be happy about the task assigned to him. Data did that sort of thing faster and better, and Worf was probably longing to get down to work on the phaser arrays, putting them through their paces – besides, Riker was well aware of the Klingon's feelings regarding their latest mission._ Anyway, he should be resting. He's had a trying time. _

He walked over, glancing over Worf's shoulder at a screen displaying some molecular structure. Worf moved slightly to one side and continued working.

"I want you in Ten Forward tonight", the first officer said casually. "I want a full report of the Mavvion mission, and _not_ in writing. And quite by the way, I could do with a bat'telh refresher course."

Worf gave a noncommittal grunt without looking up from his console, and Riker, taking this for an expression of consent, nodded and moved off. Worf grunted again, to himself this time. Riker was trying to distract him – to lighten his mood. He appreciated the effort but had no intention of allowing himself to be distracted. There was trouble ahead. He would meet that trouble head-on.

In fact he had been looking forward to the charting assignment. It would have given him time for a closer look at an idea that had occurred to him these days, quite possibly an offshoot of the annoyance and boredom of the Mavvion mission. There might be a way to improve the ship's torpedo guidance system. It was an ingenious and unorthodox idea that would need careful checking and turning over before he could even start working on the practicalities, certainly not something he could pursue if he had to concentrate on security issues. And anything remotely to do with Cardassians meant that security would be very much a priority. He, Lieutenant Worf, had a feud with the entire nation.

The battle section's aft phaser arrays could do with an extra check, he decided. He would see to that in person. A full diagnostic of the weapons systems was one thing – he was positive they were working smoothly. But if you took a close and undisturbed look at any one system you could sometimes find room for improvement. And the shields – generations of Starfleet weapons specialists had tried to make shields more lasting under attack, but perhaps there was something that could be done to them with regard to the special conditions of the Mount Nebula.

He copied the data on the chemical components of the nebula onto a padd and moved on to materials known to be used in Cardassian hull construction.

**- - - - - - -**

"This is getting on my nerves", muttered Geordi.

Peering over his shoulder at an uncommunicative screen, Lieutenant Worf said: "I will ask security to conduct a shipwide search. I should have done this earlier."

"You don't understand. We've _done_ it, Worf. I've tried to explain it to the captain – we've been through this ship with a very fine comb, believe me. Data just isn't here."

"That", said Worf, "does not make sense."

"Oh, I agree. It doesn't. Still –" Geordi indicated the screen with a frustrated shrug. "If you can think of anything we haven't tried yet..."

"I will give it some thought", said Worf.

Geordi sighed. "Must you be so literal, Worf?"

"There must be some explanation. Have you found out what caused the sensor malfunctions?"

"What?" said Geordi, momentarily taken aback by the seeming non sequitur. "Oh, I see – you think there's some connection."

"There may be", Worf said with a touch of impatience. "Besides, we have been informed that the Mount Nebula will interfere with our external sensors. We have a malfunction of the internal sensor system now. It must be seen to before we arrive. We are dealing with Cardassians", he finished, pointedly.

"Okay, I get you. I just haven't found the time to look into it properly so far. I've run a few tests, and they seemed to work fine. And now the captain wants those diagnostics, and I'll have my hands full. You're quite sure about that delay you noticed?"

"Yes. And you can see the power surge for yourself."

"Looks like a frayed conduit to me, to be honest. We'll sort it out in the course of the diagnostic. If that was our only problem, I'd throw a party." He straightened, adjusting his visor that had slipped a little when he bent over, and Worf said: "Does that device interfere with your visor?"

Geordi grinned. "No, it doesn't. And to anticipate your next question, Worf, no, it doesn't interfere with my performing my duties either. Quite the opposite, actually. Counselor Troi says I should wear it whenever I can. She'll make it all right with the captain, so you needn't worry."

"What is it for?" inquired Worf, curious in spite of himself.

"Inner balance. Peace of mind. It helps you find some kind of equilibrium – understand yourself, in a way. It takes time, but it feels great right away. After the first ten seconds, that is – those are nasty. You want to try it out, you tell me."

"No. This is foolishness. Klingons do not indulge in this kind of" – Worf's lips curled in distaste – "fun."

"Well, I know _that_!" Geordi laughed outright now. "But it's not really _fun_ – I wouldn't recommend it to you if it was, now would I. In fact it's much better than that. More like a meditation aid or something. It may sound silly to you, but you really should try it. In a way, it helps you concentrate on essentials. Find out what you really want. God, I'm feeling good about it."

"I see", said Worf, whose attention had wandered back to the screen.

"No, you don't, because you're not listening. Look, it's fabulous. It doesn't _do_ anything to you, I've checked with Counselor Troi. It just... well, helps you focus. Brings out what's already there – what you could be. Yes, that's it. It helps you find out what you're about. I feel I'm just starting over."

"This is not how I spend my time."

"Yes, I know. I mean, that sort of thing isn't exactly your problem anyway, is it? At least I can't see _you_ brooding about where you belong in life and all that. It's just – well, I'm not much of a fellow for soul-searching myself as a rule, but sometimes you do end up wondering if you're in the right place and if you're really doing the job you can do best as best you can and so on. You know the feeling?" He turned his head sideways to get an impression of Worf's reaction and tried valiantly to suppress another grin. "Sorry, Worf. Forget it. You don't want to be asked that. Anyway, you feel you'll find an answer if you keep at it. Like the thread in a maze. I suppose the idea is that at some stage you'll be at peace with yourself. Hey, Worf, whatever's the matter now?"

"I would appreciate it if we concentrated on the issue at hand", Worf said, very succinctly.

There was a moment's tense silence. Then Geordi replied: "Sure. Whatever you like. Sorry." He sounded hurt, and Worf had a feeling that he might be expected to apologize. Geordi had only been trying to communicate his enthusiasm – had he not? He didn't deserve that brusque rebuff, although humans sometimes seemed morbidly fascinated by the sublimities of their own inner life – and much too ready to share them with others.

He, Worf, was hardly the proper audience for that sort of thing. Cardassians would be coming aboard, the internal sensors did not work properly, the external ones _would_ not be working, and Data was still missing. He would be damned before he apologized to Geordi for stopping this ill-timed babble about _finding your place_. Their place right now was in front of a computer terminal, trying to locate the _Enterprise_'s second officer.

The remainder of their shift, however, passed in a silence only broken by the most unavoidable of comments.

**- - - - - - -**


	4. Chapter 4

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 03**

"It is spectacular", said Ensign Storgat, of the _Enterprise_'s Astrophysics department, his normally even voice and placid blue features betraying a hint of excitement at the data displayed on the monitor in front of him. Lieutenant Tom Rickett of Stellar Cartography, just dropped in with some test results, nodded vigorously. "Told you so."

"For all I know there's never been anything like it. It may mean we've discovered a new class of planetary atmosphere in the Hellicon Cluster. Christ, just look at _that_, sir. The sort of organism that could survive in conditions like these..." Ensign Dualle's voice dropped dramatically. Rickett nodded again. "I'm looking forward to getting back there. I _liked_ the place. Of course we didn't have the time to get down to it, but..."

The three of them looked up simultaneously when the doors hissed open to admit Lieutenant Benedetto who stopped in the middle of the room, looking round with a more than usually belligerent expression.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked Dualle.

"Possibly. Where's Mayekawa?"

Dualle gave Storgat an uneasy look. "_Commander_ Mayekawa is in the lab with the diagnostics team, sir. We're just holding the fort for him."

"In fact we've been gloating over some of the Hellicon Cluster data", Rickett added pleasantly. "Have a look, Benedetto. It's glorious."

Benedetto shrugged. "If you say so. _I_ don't have time for that now. I've just had a meeting with Commander Riker."

"Really", said Rickett.

"Yeah. Really. And the Hellicon Cluster needn't concern you right now – we're not going back there."

"Hey, wait a moment! I thought –"

"We've changed course an hour ago", interrupted Benedetto. "I'll just have a word with Mayekawa, and then I'll need my people for that diagnostic, if you don't mind."

Rickett drew a measured breath the moment Benedetto was out of hearing. "Well. I'll be getting back to S.C."

"Sorry for that, sir", said Dualle. "Things are a bit tense here right now. He and Mayekawa aren't exactly hitting it off, you might say."

"You surprise me", said Rickett, flicked them a wry grin, and left.

"What _is_ eating the guy?" Dualle asked when the doors had swished shut again. "It's just getting worse. I know he doesn't like it here, but that attitude isn't going to get him into the command division. Just shows the sort of bridge officer he'd make."

"He believes in his potential", replied Storgat, philosophically.

**- - - - - - -**

In Ten Forward, Lieutenant Worf was giving his account of the Mavvion mission for the benefit of Will Riker – who was trying very hard not to grin too broadly. Riker had finally managed to pry Worf away from the terminal in his quarters where the _Enterprise_'s security chief was looking into the interference with targeting that could be expected inside the Mount Nebula, and by now he was enjoying himself thoroughly. "I'd have loved to meet them, you know", he said.

"No", replied Worf firmly. "They are a devious, dishonorable race. Their quarrels are despicable. The captain wasted his time on them."

"He did manage to get those treaties signed", Riker said with a shrug.

"It was not worth the effort. They will quarrel again. And he almost got himself killed over those... treaties."

"From what he said, he prefers to think of it as an accident."

Worf gave him one long look and applied himself to his prune juice.

"All right. I _would_ like to hear your version of that one", said Riker.

"Very well", rumbled Worf, not altogether displeased. "On the third day of our stay the archont of Mavvion and some of the delegates gave the captain a tour of their government buildings. There was restoration work being done to parts of them, and local custom demands that such work must be done with traditional tools such as blocks and tackles. Accidents could happen easily. Security was everywhere. Perhaps you should know that negotiations had not been going well the day before. The captain had refused to agree with the claims of some of the delegates, and finally told them they might as well accept that Federation membership was not about demanding all and granting nothing..." Worf paused, tilting his glass to study the remainder of his drink, and not for the first time Riker found himself thinking that the Klingon's sense of timing was infallible.

"We had parted from the delegates, having completed the tour. We were walking along a passage with a vault propped up on wooden supports. Suddenly one of the guards yelled, pointed past me and fired his phaser. His aim was bad, and the setting must have been very high. He took out the nearest support, and the vault... collapsed." Worf took another sip of prune juice.

"Just like that."

"Just like that", nodded Worf. "We reached a doorway in time to take shelter there – the captain, myself, and some government official. We discovered that we could not open the door. It was metal, and all doors not in use had been locked by security. Splinters were flying. I managed to shield the captain. The official was injured. We could not get past the rubble – it blocked the entire doorway. Some time later someone unlocked the door from the other side. They were very surprised to find us alive. Two people had been killed by falling masonry. The man who had been firing and another said they had seen someone with a weapon moving in the shadow of a doorway, although I had not. Their officer backed them, of course. The captain told the Mavvionians that he felt he was wasting his time and had come to the conclusion that we should be leaving in the morning, and we returned to our quarters. The archont was very upset when he learned about it. There was a state banquet scheduled for that evening, and it would not have looked well if the captain had decided not to appear. Shortly afterwards a delegation of ministers came to apologize for the incident and ask him to extend his stay."

"And having every intention of doing that anyway, he gracefully consented", ventured Riker.

"Not straight away. He merely said he would reconsider his decision."

"_Your_ suggestion?"

"_My_ suggestion had been to leave immediately. In fact, while they were apologizing I took the opportunity to inform the captain that his shuttlecraft might be ready for him within a few minutes."

Riker snorted with delight. "Very subtle, Worf."

Worf gave him a withering look. "I felt we had been listening to their impertinence too long already."

"Of course. Sorry. Still, it didn't harm his position, did it?"

"He was not offended", conceded Worf.

"I take it there were no more accidents after that", prompted Riker.

"No. I saw to that. There was some trouble with their security chief, however."

Just then the waiter arrived with two fresh glasses.

"Synthehol, Commander. Your prune juice, sir."

"Thanks, Ben", Riker said absent-mindedly.

The waiter bent forward confidentially. "You know, there's been quite a lot of interest in that drink lately. Several people asked for whatever it was Lieutenant Worf was having. When we tell them what it is, they usually leave it at that. But someone actually said that a fortified version would make a great drink. We're working on it."

"A syntheholic version of prune juice? Now that should be interesting. Make sure you call in security before you try it out on anybody."

The waiter grinned. "To be honest, it's usually when _security_ is in full view that people want to be seen drinking prune juice. And frankly, we don't expect anybody to order it more than once."

"Just as well", muttered Worf. The idea of being imitated didn't appeal to him.

"I agree, sir", said the waiter, collecting the empty glasses. Riker was about to answer in kind when the soft swish of the doors caught his attention. A slim young woman with straight fair hair entered the room and stopped just inside the door. He caught a brief, interested look that slid past him to rest on Worf's face for a moment, then the woman turned away to walk up to the bar. Riker watched her appreciatively. "Talking of imitation. There's Nagel."

"You won't hear _her_ ordering prune juice, Commander!" protested Ben, shocked, and took himself off.

"No, she's just indulging herself with a bit of Klingon calisthenics every now and then. If I'd known your programs would prove that popular with lovely junior officers, Worf –"

Worf turned an uncomprehending frown upon him. "Your point, Commander?"

Riker chuckled. "Nothing. We've been interrupted. What sort of trouble?"

"Oh. The man suggested that as I was unfamiliar with the place and a stranger to the local culture, I might appreciate some assistance. What he meant was that Mavvionian customs and attitudes were beyond my understanding. He offered me a security detail to take some of the burden of my job off me."

"He referred to it as a burden, did he?"

"He did." Worf's eyes narrowed a little at the memory. "I declined. I told him that accepting such an offer was incompatible with my duties. Unfortunately he either did not understand, or he had some ulterior motive for persisting. He repeated his offer at a later occasion within hearing of both the captain and the delegates, representing it as a point of Mavvionian honor."

Riker whistled softly. "Good move on his part."

"Yes. It forced me to make my own point then and there. I could not risk being encumbered with an untrustworthy honor guard. The delegates were offended. There was a row. Finally the captain got them to calm down. He told them that he would have brought a security detail if he had felt there was any need for it, but had deemed it both unnecessary and impolite towards our hosts."

"Yes, that sounds like the Picard touch", Riker said appreciatively. "End of discussion?"

"It was, for the moment. However, after this I felt that the local security, or at least part of it, was not only an encumbrance but an actual danger. As the personnel was everywhere it was impossible to predict what might happen next. The only solution was to stay with the captain."

"Meaning you actually attended every single one of those infernal meetings?" asked Riker. "From what he said, he must have been bored out of his mind!"

"It was tedious", admitted Worf. "And irritating. I believe he thought so, too. Several of the delegates appeared to find my presence disquieting, which was what I had anticipated. But I believe I convinced him that his safety required no less."

_You didn't, my friend_, thought Riker. _You just convinced him that he didn't stand a chance in hell winning _that_ argument_. Out aloud he said: "It sounds like you had one holiday of an assignment."

"Much talk to no purpose. A race without honor or courage. But", said Worf, and the sudden note of sheer hatred in his voice almost made Riker jump, "they were not Cardassians."

**- - - - - - -**

"You know, I still haven't grown used to you wearing that uniform", said the captain, refilling his tea cup. Troi smiled, serenely sipping her own Betazoid mallow tea.

"To be honest, I resented wearing it at first. But now I suspect that what I was resenting most was the form of the request and the fact that it came from someone who was... well, rather difficult to please. It does look more professional, of course. I'm not sure if I should wear it for appointments, but it was the right thing for those Federation envoys once I had ended up looking after them."

"I have been told about that. You must have done a very good job in a very difficult and trying situation. Thank you."

"It has been an honor", said Troi, trying to drop her voice by an octave or so, and they both smiled.

"Of course, that is not what I wanted to see you about", continued the captain.

"No. And we're not sitting here just to talk about Mavvion either – even though you made it all sound very amusing. You are a little preoccupied with something I think. May I hazard a guess, Captain? I believe you're unhappy with our new assignment, and uncomfortable with the prospect of handling another dubious Cardassian issue. You haven't got over what happened on Celtris III, and I think you don't entirely trust your own reactions."

Picard looked up, genuinely surprised. Troi didn't usually make mistakes like that. "No, that wasn't what I was going to address at all. I _am_ unhappy with that assignment – we all are, and for much the same reasons, I believe. But I am fine, Deanna."

"Forgive me, but that was what you said after Wolf 359, Captain. I think you knew quite well that it wasn't true, and I knew that you knew."

"That –" He stopped himself. "That was quite different."

"Maybe. Very well." She tilted her head, studying him. "I'll take your word for it – for the moment, anyway. What is it that is bothering you?"

"In fact I'm a little concerned about this wire device Geordi is sporting these days. He was quite enthusiastic about it, and God knows I don't mean to interfere in his private business. But he said something about its being all over Engineering, and under the circumstances I would like to know what it is."

"You mean this?" She pushed a mass of dark curls back over her right shoulder, and sure enough, there it was: a slender arrangement of intertwining black wires, one strand of them terminating in a graceful spiral surrounding a small disk flat against her temple, the other emerging from under the lobe of her ear and following the line of her jaw for an inch or so before ending in another disk. Troi watched the captain frown at the sight, and smiled a little at his obvious discomfiture. "I can tell you one thing straight away, Captain – you needn't worry about it. This is the equivalent of, say, a daily centering exercise. It is absolutely harmless."

"So you sanctioned it?"

"It was I who recommended it to Geordi, in fact. I had an idea it might be just the thing for him, but I didn't realize at first how right I had been. Would you believe that it actually makes his headaches go away?"

"Oh?"

"You know how everybody always told him that he had to live with either this constant pain or a seriously impaired version of his sight. Well, he told me almost straight away that the pain was getting less. I always suspected that part of it at least was psychosomatic in origin. I am not surprised that he has since passed it on to others in Engineering. In fact I would ask you to allow him to wear it on duty as well."

"That's strictly against regulations, you know."

Troi smiled. "I do know. Ensign Ro's earring was against regulations as well, if I remember correctly. Not to mention Worf's sash. And both of those you allowed for the sake of the principle they represented, Captain. Now this is not a question of principle – it's a question of well-being, almost like a Benzite's breathing apparatus."

"Which is a question of survival", Picard said rather dryly. "Geordi, as we all know, has been functioning perfectly well without this thing, so let's not confuse the issues. That aside, if it does that for him he may wear it with my blessing. Provided he checks with Dr. Crusher, of course."

"I told him to do that. I'd tell _everybody_ who uses the device to get regular checks, and I am doing the same myself."

"Well, just for the moment I'd feel more comfortable if you took it off. Frankly, your face looks a bit disconcerting to me."

"Of course." She removed it, deftly disentangling a stray lock of hair from the delicate wires, and put it down on the table in front of her. "No problem whatsoever, Captain. There. Is that better?"

"Much better. Now tell me, what is it about this device? I still don't like it much."

"It won't interfere with the running of the ship I assure you. It doesn't induce anything from outside – it provides a kind of interface between the conscious and the unconscious. In a way, it will help people become more of themselves – certainly not less."

"Very well, I'll take your word for it – for the moment. What does it do?"

"It..." She hesitated, frowning a little. "It's difficult to explain, actually – especially to so _very_ rational a person as you, Captain." She flicked him a smile that held amusement as well as warm affection. "You see, most people carry some dream or goal inside them. Some sort of personal quest. Most of the time it's subconscious, or at least they are not fully aware of it – which is what gives psychologists such a hard time, of course. We're supposed to help people lead fulfilled lives, after all. Being able to realize your potential – your _real_ goal – goes a long way towards ensuring that. In fact people can become seriously ill when they are denied it. Now all this device does is to stimulate your ability to get in touch with that part of your mind."

"How does it do that?" inquired the captain.

"Electromagnetic impulses moulded to your brainwaves. You see, it adapts to what it finds – it doesn't import anything. You'll have to ask Beverly. She did some experiments and declared it entirely harmless."

"And how did you come by it?"

"It was a gift originally. There was a half-Vulcan, half-Betazoid scientist among the people we took to the Fragan VI summit. Actually, you may have met him the day before you left for Mavvion, Captain. A psychologist. We saw quite a lot of each other. I have rarely met with more stimulating company. We spent hours talking about our respective jobs, and about personal quests. He had this theory about the Flow phenomen, and..." She laughed suddenly. "I'm going to lose you, sir. What it comes to is that the device does for the mind what regular meditation exercises would do – rather focused meditation exercises. The idea is to get closer to an awareness of what you perceive as your purpose in life. It is really nothing more than that. But the impression that you are gaining ground in that respect – that you can get past the obstacles, slowly, and communicate with that part of your mind – it's a glorious feeling. Geordi believes he's found a miracle cure." She smiled. "He hasn't. It's nothing of the sort, of course. But I can understand his euphoria. Those headaches – being in pain, all the time, buying his sight with the pain, and now... It makes me wonder about something."

"Which is?"

"_Your_ headaches, Captain."

"Oh, no. No. That's entirely different. I'm not forced to live with contacts implanted in my temples, Counselor."

"You are living with psychosomatic headaches. The device cannot do anything about the sheer physical strain of those implants on Geordi's system, but it seems to have allowed him to get rid of some of the mental stress. You might want to try it yourself, sir."

"Certainly not," said Picard, setting his mug down on the table with a sharp little _clack_. "I have no intention of trying it – either as a cure for headaches or as a means of self-exploration. If you believe it to be beneficial for Geordi or other members of this crew I won't object. But as for experimenting with the thing myself – no."

"Not even for the chance of being whole, Captain?" she said, very gently, reaching out for his hand.

He pulled back. "I've come to mistrust those kinds of promises a long time ago."

"Because of your own experiences?"

"Quite possibly because of my own experiences. If they have taught me anything it is the need to remain in control – to try and keep some _measure_ of control, at least –"

There was a short silence.

"Very well", she said finally, quite softly. "I won't suggest it again. I'll just say that the device has nothing whatever to do with control. But this is not really just about control, is it. You are simply frightened at what you might find."

"This is about control. I won't let anything be done to my mind, and that's the long and the short of it."

Deanna looked at him for a long moment, then she smiled. "You will do precisely as you see fit, Captain. I'll leave you to it." She got to her feet as she spoke, and went to the door with a quiet "Good night, sir." He didn't try to hold her back. She merely heard an equally quiet "Good night" as the door was opening before her, and on looking back over her shoulder saw him still sitting there, composed and a little thoughtful perhaps.

**- - - - - - -**


	5. Chapter 5

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 04**

"... and the result was that the ambassador was practically in orbit around that poor girl for the rest of his time aboard", said Beverly Crusher, using her coffee spoon to illustrate the movement. "The moment I turned my back he'd pop up in sickbay, making a nuisance of himself to Nurse Cavour. Now how do you tell a Federation dignitary to get lost? _You_ could possibly have done it, Jean-Luc, but I don't think anything more subtle than a painstick would have kept him away. Heaven knows I don't mind a little social activity, but having those people underfoot all that time was a bit taxing, to say the least. I think we all heaved a sigh of relief when we had unloaded them at Fragan VI."

"I'm beginning to suspect mine was the easy part after all", said the captain with a slight smile, not quite attending. They were just finishing one of their occasional breakfasts together, facing each other across the coffee table in Picard's quarters. Beverly had been keeping up the conversation during most of it, and the captain still seemed a little distracted for all her efforts. At this time of day that was a rare and faintly disquieting circumstance.

"Am I wrong in assuming you are a trifle preoccupied this morning?" she asked rather abruptly.

"I'm sorry", he replied, visibly pulling himself together. "Too many unresolved issues. I keep thinking I'm missing something."

"Stop thinking about it„, Dr. Crusher said reasonably. "It'll come back. We'll have more time than we need once we're sitting in that nebula. If you want my professional opinion", she added, smiling, "it's my theory that you just don't believe anybody can look after your ship in your absence, and now you are trying to find proof of it. Let me tell you... Why, Jean-Luc", she said suddenly, her tone changing abruptly; then she reached out and picked up the small wire device from where it had lain, hidden from sight by a plate of rolls. "Now _that_'s a surprise!"

"What's that? Oh, yes. It belongs to Deanna", said Picard, slightly annoyed. "I suppose she forgot it. I'm not interested in the thing – I don't think I need that device to inform me of my calling in life. I rather like my job."

"But that's not the point!" exclaimed Beverly, half-laughing. "In fact I think it would do you good. You're not very open-minded when it comes to your feelings – forgive the lousy pun. You might be surprised at what you find."

"Perhaps I don't want to be surprised", he said evenly.

"You're not at all interested in getting to know yourself better?"

"In my own time and place, perhaps. Not at the mercy of some obscure mind-scanning gadget."

"Well, this is outrageous. Whoever called it that? It's not a _mind-scanning gadget_ any more than a neural calliper is. And for some people it's a massive stroke of good luck. You might consider Geordi. _And_ Barclay, who's just told me he has never felt so much at ease with himself before. It's your right to be unwilling to accept help in anything, Jean-Luc, but you should grant others the right to be less aloof."

"All right, all right", the captain replied impatiently. "I'm sorry. Let's change the subject, shall we? – Right now I have other things on my mind than my own spiritual fulfilment", he added, softening a little. "In fact it's time I get down to them. That diagnostic should be well under way. I'll be glad to see something running smoothly for a change."

"Jean-Luc, will you at least consider –"

"No", said Picard, rising. "I will not. Beverly, you are the third person in as many days attempting to talk me into trying out this device. I don't like it. I don't like the promises. Frankly, I'm beginning to think it might be a good idea to ban the damn thing."

"Ban it? After Deanna has been _recommending_ it?"

"Her assurances that it isn't harmful are the one reason I'm willing to tolerate it. And even so I wonder if I am making a mistake. At the first sign that it is interfering with the running of this ship I'll get rid of it, no matter what anybody says about its beneficial effects."

Beverly remained sitting, looking up at him with a half-amused and now very puzzled frown. "Forgive me, Jean-Luc, but aren't you overreacting a bit now? All that agitation over the horrible danger of making your peace with yourself? Wouldn't you agree that that in itself might be telling you something, and not necessarily about any member of your crew?"

"I think that's quite enough about that", snapped Picard. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I am wanted on the bridge." And he swung out of the room without another word. The door swished shut in his wake.

Beverly looked after him, genuinely startled now. "Oh, dear", she said softly, to no one in particular. "You _are_ upset, aren't you."

**- - - - - -**

Lieutenant Worf, on his way to the bridge, put the turbolift on hold when he saw Commander Riker rounding the corner at a sprint. "Thanks", said the first officer, slipping in. "That fool Ferguson just kept me explaining. You'd think he'd never briefed a diagnostics team before."

Worf nodded once. "Bridge." The lift began to move.

"Halt", said Riker a second or two later. "There's something I'm supposed to tell you, and I might as well tell you in here because you're not going to like it. I received a coded message this morning. There's a recommendation in the offing for you." Riker gave him a wry grin. "You owe it to no less a personage than Captain Jellico. He was very impressed with your performance, apparently."

"What?" said Worf, uncomprehendingly.

"Officially it's for the way you handled that business on Mennagar Cui", explained Riker.

Worf frowned, as much at a loss as before. "Mennagar Cui?"

"Come on, Worf. You got that away team out of a very ugly fix, at considerable risk to yourself."

"I did my duty", retorted Worf. "Nothing more. And at that time my commanding officer was _not_ Captain Jellico. I do not see..."

"Well, that's where the inofficial part comes in. In actual fact you're recommended for your exemplary performance of your duties in getting Doctor Crusher and yourself out of that mess on Celtris III and off the planet. Only they can't very well give you a recommendation for something you officially never did. Yes, I have an idea what you're going to say now, Worf. But this wasn't _my_ idea. Think of it as just another recommendation – it will look good on your service record no matter what you think about the circumstances."

"This", said Worf through clenched teeth, "is adding insult to injury."

Riker sighed. "Somehow I knew you'd take it that way. Look, I wasn't there. But I've read the reports, and whether you like it or not, you came out of it brilliantly. It wasn't your fault. It was a very well set-up trap, and there was absolutely nothing you could have done when things went wrong." The first officer took another look at Worf's expression and turned his eyes briefly towards the turbolift ceiling. "I'm sorry, Worf. I've done my official duty and informed you of it. Just in case it helps, Jellico isn't exactly easy to please."

"I know that, sir", Worf replied stiffly, his voice an offended growl. "I had no desire to please him, and I do not believe I did." He addressed the turbolift. "Resume."

Privately, Riker admitted to himself that Worf was probably right. Jellico certainly hadn't shown himself particularly impressed with the Klingon at the time. The whole thing might just as well be Jellico's way of telling Riker what he thought of _him_ – recommending someone further down the chain of command, someone he had all but ignored at the time. The final irony was that Worf _had_ acquitted himself brilliantly on Celtris III; Riker had caught himself shaking his head in disbelief on reading his report. _Exemplary performance of his duties_, the first officer thought somewhat grimly. _Poor Worf_.

The bridge looked empty. Ensign Maeno was at Conn, and Sam Lavelle occupied the command chair again. He got up as soon as he saw his superior approaching, nodding and moving back to Ops with a brief "Good morning, sir."

"Morning, Mr. Lavelle. The captain?" asked Riker.

"In his ready room, sir."

Riker grunted and slumped down in the center seat. There was no sign of Data, and he hadn't really expected to see him; all he felt by now was a sense of unnerved resignation. He knew what Geordi would say if he were to ask him about Data again, he could even see Geordi's expression on saying it, and he was thoroughly fed up with making the same inquiries over and over again. He had even instructed the diagnostics teams to make sure of the number of shuttlecraft and escape pods – although he had been checking with the computer himself, and knew perfectly well that no craft was missing. Under normal circumstances, of course, he would have dismissed any such suggestion out of hand. But now, faced with the problem of an inexplicably and persistently missing second officer, he had come to regard such possibilities as less remote than before. And at some stage during the morning the captain would ask _him_ the inevitable question, and he would be feeling a fool. Riker wasn't looking forward to the moment.

Meanwhile, a low altercation was taking place by the aft stations.

"Where is Macaulay?" Worf had asked Ensign N'Guyn as soon as he had stepped out onto the bridge. "I am waiting for a report."

"I don't know, sir. She hasn't been here during my shift."

"She should be here _now_." Worf glowered at the turbolift door; in actual fact there were two minutes left until the beginning of alpha shift. As if on cue, the door swished open, depositing Deanna Troi on the bridge. She gave Worf a friendly smile and walked down the ramp, to take her place on Riker's left.

"She may just be polishing it", suggested N'Guyn chivalrously.

"She was supposed to be doing it yesterday", Worf replied, turning away and frowning at the Tactical console. Elsewhere the best part of his people were busy on a level-one diagnostic of the weapons systems he knew; perhaps he should not be too impatient. Still...

He hit his comm badge. "Worf to Macaulay."

There was no answer. Worf's frown deepened.

"Worf to Macaulay. Report."

Nothing.

"Computer, locate Ensign Macaulay."

With that near-imperceptible delay that he had forgotten about at the moment, and now found more annoying than ever, the computer replied: "Ensign Macaulay is in her quarters."

N'Guyn drew his breath in through his teeth with a soft hiss. This could only mean trouble – a kind of trouble he would have liked to spare his colleague. Worf was beginning to look seriously irritated now.

"Shall I go and fetch her, sir?" N'Guyn asked hastily.

"No." Worf hit his communicator again. "Worf to Singh."

"Singh here."

"Go look for Macaulay. She is in her quarters, not responding. I want an explanation. Worf out." He gave N'Guyn a crushing look. "You stay until I send a replacement. I will be overseeing the weapons diagnostics in Engineering."

"Yes, sir", said N'Guyn resignedly, watching as Worf turned on his heel and headed for the turbolift again.

**- - - - - -**

In the corridor outside Ensign Macaulay's quarters Lieutenant Singh, having tried the door alarm for the second time, was beginning to feel concerned. "Computer", he said sharply. "Security override. Release the lock on Ensign Macaulay's door."

The door swished open. Singh took two steps into an almost-darkened room, frowning as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. "Sarah?" he asked. There was no answer, but now he noticed a dim glow coming from behind a partition, and a moment later he froze at the sound of a few tinkling notes. It sounded like something played on a keyboard. Concern gave way to annoyance. "Sarah!" he repeated more loudly, advancing towards the light, and then he stopped in utter perplexity.

She was sitting in the light of a single lamp, her small desk heaped with padds, a monitor and a tiny portable keyboard. To Singh's consternation she was wearing a loosely belted bathrobe, and her auburn hair, usually elaborately coiled and braided, looked as if she had washed it many hours ago, pinned it up and then forgotten all about it. She didn't wait for him to deliver his message. "Listen", she said without even looking up. "What do you think of this?" And dropping the padd she was holding in her left hand she rapidly played a few bars before jotting down something on another padd with her right. A third padd slid off the pile to end up on the carpet, and Macaulay gave an exasperated sigh. "Would you mind picking that up for me, please?"

Caught completely off guard, Singh found himself actually crouching before he recalled his business. "Look", he said. "Whatever it is you're doing, you're expected on the bridge. You're overdue. There's that report..."

"Oh. Yes, of course. I have it here somewhere. Raju", she said, swiveling her chair towards him to look up at him with shining eyes, "have you ever thought about basing a Klingon opera on the Chinese pentatonic scale? We've been talking about it – with Indian music it just didn't work, I've tried – I've tried just about everything I could think of. But this is it, Raju! It all fell into place suddenly last night. Only listen to this, I'll –"

"Stop!" Singh gripped her shoulders. "Now _you_ listen to _me_, Sarah. I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. But there's such a thing as a level-one diagnostic going on, and there's such a person as our C.O. waiting for your report. So I suggest you get dressed. Quickly."

"Oh", Macaulay said again, the euphoria gone all of a sudden. "That's... I'm sorry. I didn't realize –" She got to her feet, gathering her bathrobe about her. "I've been at it all night, that right? I had no idea..." She looked down on the padd she was still holding, frowning a little; then she put it down. "Oh, shit. Sorry. Five minutes. Could you just find that report for me?" And with that she shot past him. The bathroom door hissed shut in her wake.

Singh groaned as he slid into the abandoned chair. "Computer, lights!" he said, reaching out to gather the mess into a neat heap. At that moment his communicator chirped. "Worf to Singh", a dangerously calm basso voice came over the link. "Report."

Bracing himself, Singh launched into an explanation.

**- - - - - -**

In his ready room, Picard had been looking through the reports presented by the various stations and departments, and so far had found nothing wrong with them. He had just decided to finish them and then go down to Engineering to have a look at the proceedings when the intercom chirped.

"Bridge to Captain Picard. Sir", said the voice of Ensign Ryan, "incoming message for you from Starbase 109. It's classified, sir."

"Patch it through to me. And, Ensign, next time you might wait for me to acknowledge your call before you deliver your message – even if you happen to know I'm here. I _might_ just ask you to stand by."

"Uh, yes, sir. Of course. I'm sorry, sir. Patching message through now."

Picard smiled a little. Ryan was Worf's latest addition to his team, a gangling young man prone to just that kind of blunder. Looking at him, nobody would have suspected him of having anything to do with ship's security. Obviously, though, there was more to him than that.

_Incoming transmission_, the monitor on Picard's desk read. _Starfleet Command to Captain J. L. Picard, USS Enterprise NCC 1701-D. Voice authorization required_.

The captain frowned. All codes had been altered after Celtris III, of course, and so far he had not been required to use the new one. "Authorization Picard gamma six zero seven three."

Admiral Juarez's face appeared on the screen, without its mask of joviality. "Ah, Jean-Luc. Just as well I catch you before you disappear into that damn nebula."

"We couldn't possibly reach it in less than another twenty-four hours", Picard said neutrally.

"And now you're wondering what's become of my own subspace ban. It still holds. Just one more thing you really should know. Starfleet Intelligence has informed us that they have been contacted by an unnamed representative of the Obsidian Order, of all things, warning us urgently against believing in Gul Dravek's bona fides. According to the representative Dravek will probably try somehow to involve the Federation in some dubious deal which he will then make public, discrediting us sufficiently to hazard the peace talks. That, according to the source, is why he specifically asked for a respected, trustworthy negotiator to meet him. It would make it that much more devastating."

Picard was silent for a few moments before he answered, mulling over the implications. At last he said: "I take it Starfleet prefers the version presented by Dravek himself, and our assignment still stands."

Juarez looked uncomfortable. "Your assignment stands, all right. As for _preferring_ Dravek's story... well, let's just say that if it is true there is too much to be gained here to abandon the whole thing now."

"Could you tell me a little more about that?"

"No. I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, but I can't."

Picard hadn't really expected anything else. "I see", he said. "But frankly I am having difficulties making sense of this, Admiral. What little you have been sketching out for me as Dravek's probable intentions –"

"No point getting sarcastic, Jean-Luc."

"... sounded as if it might involve parts of the Cardassian government, which in turn probably means the military", Picard continued carefully. "What you just told me would imply that Dravek's goal is to plunge us back into war, or at least to create additional tensions, and that his superiors wish to prevent this. I don't pretend to know much about the workings of the Cardassian administration, but it seems to me that informing Starfleet Intelligence that this proposed and supposedly secret meeting is a set-up is an impractical way of going about it, Admiral. At the very least I would have thought they have ways and means to prevent this meeting from taking place if they so wish."

Juarez gave an impatient shrug. "Damn it, how should I know? To be honest with you, we're under the impression that there are departments working against other departments there, which I suspect is what you've been saying just now. But that's not the point. The point is that that rendezvous with Dravek may be a trap of some kind."

"Thank you, Admiral. The thought had occurred to me."

"I bet it has." It was evident by now that Juarez wished to bring the interview to a close. He was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. "We've put this affair in the best hands we know of. – Captain, in the light of all this you'll understand that your top priority must be to make sure the Federation isn't compromised in any way. We're depending on you to handle this properly, and to take the proper decisions in case there are problems. Good luck, Jean-Luc. Juarez out." And the screen returned to the familiar logo of laurel branches framing a field of stars, and then went black.

Picard rested his chin on his joined hands and stared at it, frowning. He was aware that he should be feeling both anger and mortification at the casual way Starfleet handed him an impossible situation while denying him the means to prepare for it. He did feel a twinge of both, in fact – as well as a certain dismay. _What an assignment. So I am to risk my ship and the lives and reputations of my crew because Starfleet Intelligence wants it both ways_. And as Riker would no doubt point out to him as soon as he was regaled with this latest piece of news, if anything went wrong it was obvious who would be condemned for recklessly endangering the hard-won and uneasy truce with Cardassia.

All of this was undeniably true. And still...

The captain looked at his own rueful expression reflected by the black monitor, noting with a kind of wry amusement that along with everything else he actually felt a degree of relief, as if a load had been physically lifted off him. It was oddly reassuring to know that it hadn't been mere paranoia on his part to suspect a trap of some sort. Now the possibility had finally been admitted, by someone as stolid and unimaginative as Admiral Juarez, he could turn his full attention to the question of how best to deal with the issue. In a way, it was startling to discover that he must have been reserving some doubts about his own objectivity without even being aware of it. What was it Troi had once said to him, in a different context entirely? _You can have too much of the life of the mind_. For some reason, his memory had retained that. _Indeed you can_, he thought, wryly.

Not that the news had made his assignment any easier. He still had a horrifying task to accomplish, something that would require enormous caution and presence of mind, not to mention luck. And then of course there was that other thing...

Yes. _Data_. Juarez had taken one worry off his mind, but he realized immediately that there were plenty left. Still, he wouldn't allow it to rob him of that very real sense of relief. He rose and went over to the replicator for some Earl Grey tea, hot, which he carried back to his desk. Two more reports to go over, and he could still go down to Engineering afterwards – which was the likeliest place for any news about Data, too.

He hadn't quite finished the first of the remaining reports when the door chimed.

"Come", he said, putting his mug down. Worf entered briskly, a couple of padds in his hand.

"Sir. These are the details about the Mount Nebula you requested. It consists of accarium B, chromium and dilithium hydroxyls in more or less equal amounts, and some hydrogen. There is no danger either to our hull or to that of a Cardassian ship. Admiral Juarez was not fully informed about the Mount Nebula, however."

"Meaning, Mr. Worf?"

"It is true that the interference with our sensors will be considerable, and will be getting worse. In addition, the long-range sensors will be incapacitated by prolonged exposure to the accarium B."

Picard frowned. "What exactly do you mean by _incapacitated_, Lieutenant?"

"The substance is known to attack the alloys used in a number of tracking and receiving devices. It is estimated that they will begin to fail after approximately forty to sixty hours."

"Could we adjust the main deflector to compensate?"

"Not without losing some advance warning of approaching ships. Sir, the damage will eventually be irreversible. We will have to replace entire sensor clusters."

"It would appear that timing is of the essence. We'll have to make sure we are not sitting there any longer than we have to... What about _their_ sensors?"

"I cannot tell, Captain. We know too little about Cardassian sensor technology. Under the circumstances I would recommend assuming that these conditions are less damaging to their sensors than to ours."

"Point taken, Mr. Worf. Any news about Data?"

"No, sir."

Picard shook his head, but all he said was: "Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"There is, sir. I would ask your permission to try a new training program."

"Training program?" echoed the captain, and thought: _What now? Bat'telh or d'k tahg?_

"Yes, sir. I have been devising a new security drill for unarmed hand-to-hand combat. The details are drawn up here, if you wish to look at them. I would like to begin training tomorrow."

"Permission granted", Picard said readily. There was more to come, though.

"Then I will utilize one of the holodecks for the purpose, or preferably the gymnasium. I would also invite any additional crew members who might be interested to take part. I may have to divide the participants into several training groups, but I believe the result would be worth the effort."

"Mr. Worf", said the captain, "may I ask why your inventiveness is invariably directed towards creating work for yourself? In my experience most people use it the other way round."

Worf looked surprised. "We have recently taken new personnel aboard, sir. I have reviewed their records. Some of them may never have had the opportunity to develop their combat skills beyond the basic requirements."

"Yes, yes, that's not what I meant. I hope I know better than to question your thoroughness. But there is a subtle difference between being thorough and being obsessed, Mr. Worf. _You_ are verging on the latter." The captain considered him over the rim of his tea mug, hazel eyes narrowing. "Why am I getting the distinct impression that you are preparing for something specific?"

Worf straightened. "I like to be prepared for anything, Captain."

"Including the exchange of phaser volleys with a Cardassian ship?"

So the captain knew about his recent research concerning the phaser arrays too. There was very little going on aboard the ship he didn't somehow know; Worf wouldn't have been too surprised if Picard had brought up his as yet untried plans of reconfiguring the shields next. But he stood his ground. "Yes, sir."

"We're not at war with them, Lieutenant."

"No, Captain. With all due respect, I still believe in expecting the unexpected."

"It's a sound principle, on the whole." Picard handed the padd back to him. "Go ahead, Mr. Worf. Just remember that whatever your sentiments, for now we are meeting these people as negotiators and potential allies – _not_ as enemies."

"Yes, sir."

Worf left the ready room seething quietly. _Damn_ them. It would be a fine balmy day on Rura Penthe before he trusted any Cardassian on the grounds that they were not at war with them – or on any grounds at all. It was bad enough that he might have to allow them to set foot on his ship. Trusting them was out of the question. He had been insulted too deeply for that, too deeply and too recently; Lieutenant Worf was not by nature a very forgiving man.

Ryan snapped to attention behind the tactial console when he saw his superior officer emerging from the ready room. Worf signaled him with a curt look to remain where he was and headed for the turbolift, wordlessly and quite unaware of the glances that were passing in his wake.

Inside, he instructed the lift: "Deck seven", and then he allowed himself a closer look at some of the anger he felt slowly coming to the boil just below the surface.

Cardassians on the _Enterprise_. Insult to injury. Captain Jellico's recommendation. Yes, that was it. A _recommendation_ for what he had done on Celtris III.

He had done nothing on Celtris III. Done nothing, not even died. He should have died there – died fighting, defending his captain. It was the least a security officer – a Klingon warrior – could do if he could not protect him. Instead, he had left – left the captain to be tortured, as it were. He had saved Dr. Crusher at least, which was what Starfleet and the captain would have expected him to do. The worst of it was that he had escaped himself, unharmed except for a few scratches and bruises. What sort of Chief of Security could allow that to happen? What _could_ have possessed him to be so careless, so utterly oblivious of his first duty, so...

He had made it back to the _Enterprise_, and taken up his duties, and in time Picard had been returned – something the Chief of Security knew long before it became generally known as the captain had not left his quarters for a few days. And when he took command of his ship again he had been looking a little drawn but, to most peoples' eyes, not too much the worse for whatever it was that had been happening on Celtris III. Only the restlessness of his hands had given him away and a certain haunted look in his eyes until the calm that covered everything slid into place again, covering this too.

For Worf, it had been Purgatory. He had not been able to keep him safe, and the captain had been brutally hurt as a result of his failure. It was not something Worf could either accept or forget. In fact it was a memory that still sent a hot stab of shame through him whenever he thought of it. It would take a long time to blunt that edge of pain and humiliation a little, that restless, helpless, smouldering rage at what had been done to Picard, and so to himself – at what _his_ negligence had done to both of them.

He had failed, and he had failed the captain. _Again_. For at the back of his mind there was, and always would be, the memory of a black nightmare he knew he shared with the entire crew, and that of a worse failure which he shared with no one else. So bad a failure that Worf avoided, as far as he could, even the memory of the part he himself had had in the defeat of the Borg. A piece of sheer, raw, single-minded defiance it had been, succeeding against all reasonable hope and all the odds, and still it had not been good enough as it had come too late – too late to undo anything.

He had known about their transporter, known about their ability to adapt to phaser configurations, known everything he needed to know. And yet.

He had still allowed the Borg on the bridge. He had been looking one way the one moment he should have been looking the other. He had allowed them to abduct the captain, and then failed to rescue him. He was Chief of Security, he was the one who should have prevented it. And had not. His responsibility. His fault. His. As well as everything they had afterwards done to the captain, the –

And that was as far as he got; the remainder did not bear putting into words, not even in thought. _Captain_. It all went up in a blaze, a kind of boiling fury that made him want to put his fist through the nearest bulkhead, smash something to smithereens. How _dared_ they.

There were some human issues he could neither share nor appreciate. But broken pride, violated integrity, a man brutally laid open to the soul – those were things he did understand, striking close enough home to fill him with an incredulous, choking rage, even now. And he – _he_ – not able to prevent them.

He never noticed the crewman who hastily got out of his way as he strode down the corridor. He never even noticed that his hands had closed into fists although the fingernails were digging into his palms, drawing blood. Even unnoticed, the pain helped him steady himself. No point in this he knew. No point working himself into a white-hot rage over something that was long past, unchangeable now. Except that it was never past.

With a painful effort, he forced his thoughts into a different direction. True, they had been destroyed. He had helped destroy them. It gave him no satisfaction. They would never have known the depth of his hatred, they could not have seen it in his eyes, would not have understood _why_. Would not have cared. They were not honorable enemies. They were beyond hating, beyond understanding in a way that infuriated him. He could not reach them. Nothing could.

He and his, they had still been there afterwards. And like the others he had gone on, accepting Picard's trust in him and the trust of the _Enterprise_ crew as if – almost as if – nothing had happened. Lieutenant Worf had come through it all without a stain. He knew better than that, of course. There _was_ a stain. The memory, the shame, the wounds were still there. And he would never live it down, nor close his eyes against the fact, nor allow himself to forget.

Worf watched the door of his quarters sliding open before him without actually seeing it, and strode in and stood in the middle of the room while it softly swished shut behind him. Fools to rely on him. The captain _would_ do that sort of thing, just as he would insist they trust that damned Cardassian, against his own better judgment. And all of a sudden, there it was again, circling back upon itself, and he felt his hands clench in his effort to contain it. Celtris III. His very own Purgatory. Rage, and shocked loyalty, and a feeling that his own integrity had somehow been intruded upon – how could he ever again trust himself completely after this? And rage again when he tried to think about how anyone could have dared to challenge him so, and get away with it.

Never again. Not _ever_ again.

But that was what he had told himself after Wolf 359.

Lieutenant Worf drew a deep breath, and another. And another. From somewhere in his memory, a voice said: _At ease, Lieutenant_.

Very well. He would look after his charges this time, he would protect his commanding officer, he would see to it that nothing happened to him. He would secure his ship, train his subordinates, be prepared for anything. Anything.

He walked over and stabbed at his computer, and the shields recalibrations came up on the screen.

**- - - - - -**


	6. Chapter 6

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 05**

"You are early, Doctor", Alyssa Ogawa said with her friendly smile as Beverly walked into sickbay the next morning. "Anything unusual?"

"Not to my knowledge. After a level-one diagnostic of everything, down to the food dispensers, what else could it be? And what's that?" she said, reaching for a padd laid ready for her perusal on a cabinet. "Oh, of course! How is Lieutenant Stromberg's pregnancy coming along, then?"

"Very well. I didn't tell her there'll be two of them."

"Of _course_ not. She said she wanted to be surprised, so we won't spoil it for her. It's such a lovely story, and after all she's gone through..." Beverly sighed, smiled, and grew professional. "Okay. How is Galinski today?"

"Better, but still depressive. I would have left him to you, but I didn't expect you for another half hour at least."

"I don't think I am very welcome at that breakfast table right now", Beverly said ruefully. "The captain and I had a slight difference of opinions yesterday. And I'm _not_ going to sit down and tell him I've changed my mind since then. I haven't."

Ogawa smiled sympathetically, then flicked open her tricorder and started comparing data against one of the wall monitors. "But certainly he wouldn't insist that you do?"

"Insist? Of course not. But there is such a thing as _implying_ your opinion. And he isn't in a very social mood anyway."

There was a pause during which Nurse Ogawa looked from her tricorder to the monitor and back again with a slight professional frown. "The captain is driving himself very hard", she said finally. "After that... that incident on Celtris III you said he needed to rest, but I think he never stopped working since then."

"You are absolutely right", Beverly replied emphatically. "He hasn't. And as for reminding him, I might as well be talking Jaradan. All right, so work is his way of dealing with things, but that Mavvionian business must have tired him. Deanna said something to that effect, now I come to think of it. And that nasty new assignment on top of it all. – In fact", she added, thoughtfully, "that might explain some of it."

"Some of it?" echoed Ogawa.

"Part of his attitude towards a perfectly harmless form of recreation, Alyssa. I found him quite determined against it, and quite unwilling to consider the possibility that he might just be prejudiced."

"Personally the captain seems to _prefer_ work to relaxation", Alyssa remarked primly. "Maybe that would account for part of it too."

"Yes. He does. It has me worried sometimes. But normally he wouldn't dream of imposing his own preferences on his crew. Or even of expecting anybody to take them into account. After all it's their spare time. I found it quite unsettling."

Nurse Ogawa shook her head. "But, Doctor... Beverly... I don't think any of this so very surprising. _We_ may know it's harmless. But it's so easy to become a little inflexible when someone is overworked and unwilling to give himself any rest. Maybe even a bit... well, unreasonable. It may just be more difficult to admit when you're talking about the captain, and a personal friend."

"It shouldn't be", Doctor Crusher said decidedly. "Letting a personal bias interfere with my work – that would be unforgivable. And the captain would be the first to agree. You are absolutely right, Alyssa. I'll mention it to him."

As if on cue the captain's distinctive voice came over the intercom. "All senior officers", said Picard. "Please report to the conference lounge."

The two women looked at each other. "_Again_. Now what, at this time of day", said Beverly, rhetorically, raised her eyebrows at Ogawa, and made for the door.

She found Riker and Worf by the large aft windows, engaged in a private conversation. Will was looking amused she thought, and Worf was looking as if he would have liked to change the subject. "There's no pleasing you, Worf", the first officer was saying. "I thought you _liked_ Klingon opera. And based on the Chinese pentatonic scale. I call that really inspired." Then he turned, gave her a pleasant smile, and went to his chair. Deanna entered a moment later, and hard on her heels came Geordi, looking annoyed and slumping into his customary seat without a word. The captain was the last to arrive. Beverly watched him coming in, looking for signs of wear and tear; but Picard was looking dapper and alert and very focused, much as usual. Well, decided the doctor, those _might_ be traces of strain under his eyes. Riker waited until the captain had settled into his seat, then he said: "Good morning, sir. Let me guess – yet more helpful suggestions from Admiral Juarez?"

"Not this time", said the captain. "This should be a short briefing. I've been reviewing the conditions we'll be facing inside the Mount Nebula. What we've been told so far doesn't do them justice. Mr. La Forge, I want you to prepare eight probes for launching as soon as we have reached our coordinates. I want them to remain stationary just far enough inside the nebula to be undetectable from a distance. Mr. Worf has been working on ways to boost their sensors. They will be degenerating even faster than the ship's equipment, but at least they should give us some advance warning of any approaching ships."

"Yes, sure", said Geordi. "We'll get to work on it straight away."

"I realize the crew has been put to a lot of stress lately. The timing of this new assignment is unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do about it. There have been a couple of incidents –"

"I have taken appropriate measures", said Worf quickly, before the captain could go into details. Beverly and Deanna exchanged a brief, intrigued look. Riker grinned. Picard continued without missing a beat. "We'll just have to keep the fact in mind. You may want to inform your department heads of a new hand-to-hand combat class Mr. Worf is starting. It might actually be a way to relieve some of the tension. By the way – have you found out what caused that incident in the main shuttlebay, Counselor?"

"Well", Troi began hesitantly, "we are dealing with a major nervous breakdown here, Captain. Apparently..."

"In fact", interposed Beverly, "I'm keeping Galinski under a balancer for the moment. He's been quite depressed since his recovery. But it shouldn't be long now until Troi will be able to work with him."

The captain hesitated, but after a moment he nodded. "Very well. One more thing. I'm well aware of the fact that I've been asking this before, but have you still found no trace of Data, Mr. La Forge?"

Geordi shook his head. "Well, no, as far as I know we haven't. But frankly, Captain, I've barely had the time to ask for a status report before this meeting was announced. And in fact I'm running everybody ragged right now with that diagnostic. Not having Data around doesn't help. But I assure you, we'll keep you advised of our findings."

Picard straightened a little at that, frowned, and for a moment seemed on the verge of a sharp reply. Then he evidently decided against it. "Very well, then that will be all for the moment. Dismissed. – I'd like to see you in my ready room for a moment when it's convenient, Will", he added as the meeting was breaking up. Riker paused in the act of getting out of his chair and nodded. "I'll just have a look in at Engineering and a few other places, if that's all right with you, sir. Collect some more reports", he added with a quick grin. "It shouldn't take too long."

**- - - - - -**

"I agree entirely, Will. Warp three will be more than sufficient."

Riker nodded, satisfied, and swiveled his chair in the captain's ready room sideways so he could stretch out his legs. Picard was no more eager to reach the Mount Nebula ahead of time than anybody else. "Sir, what exactly does Starfleet expect of you? I've been thinking about it, and frankly I like it less and less. If this is a set-up there's just no way you can avoid it. They want whatever this guy may have to offer, they're giving you discretionary powers, and they're washing their hands of it all at the same time. Dravek may have gone rogue or may just pretend he has; no matter _what_ he is, we may be serving the Cardassians the perfect diplomatic incident just by going where we're ordered to go, and your first priority is to avoid one. How the _hell_ are we supposed to get out of this?"

"By turning tail and heading back into Federation space if we have to", replied Picard. "Will, we can't plan ahead here. We simply don't have the means. We'll have to do this one step at a time."

"Captain, is it just my imagination, or have they picked somebody who'd make an ideal scapegoat if this goes wrong? Your history with the Cardassians being what it is –"

"Starfleet appears to have covered itself either way. Yes, it did occur to me too, Will."

"Something tells me it's not Juarez's career that's bound up with this", grumbled Riker.

"That's one of the advantages of being an admiral", remarked Picard, drawing an involuntary grin from his first officer. _Thus one of the advantages you're quite happy to leave to others, sir_. Out aloud he said: "I've just been told about another vessel at extreme sensor range. It was gone before they could identify it, but of course we _might_ have registered on their sensors."

"Frankly, I don't believe the rerouting of the _Enterprise_ can be kept secret for any time at all. According to the mission specifics Juarez transmitted there are no other Federation ships in this sector at the moment."

"There weren't two days ago – for what it's worth."

"Anything else?"

"Yes." Riker's mouth quirked briefly. "A class-two comet."

"Why, how fascinating." The captain reached for his tea mug. Riker knew what was bound to be next, of course, and had already been steeling himself for the inevitable question. _God, how I hate this stupid situation_. But the question was slow in coming today. Picard was sitting there, fingers locked about the handle of his mug, his look turned inward as if he had forgotten Riker's presence. The first officer studied him for a few seconds with something between concern and amusement, then he deliberately broke the spell.

"Something on your mind, sir?"

Picard looked up quickly, throwing him a look that actually held a touch of gratitude. "What's been on all our minds since the day before yesterday. But – yes. What do you think about that new device people seem to be so fond of?"

"I've seen it around. Geordi has been lecturing me about it, and complaining because Worf would have none of it." He grinned at the memory. "Well, I could have told him _that_ straight away. I don't quite know what to think about the thing myself, but it seems to have its uses. I haven't had the time to get one and try it out. Deanna says I should – she thinks highly of it. – In fact", he added quietly, "you've been asking her the same question already, sir."

"Yes. Frankly it worries me. I've seen it too – I get the impression that the thing is spreading, and right now I would prefer my crew to be concentrating on their jobs. But I can't think of a reasonable-sounding objection" – he smiled briefly – "and anyway I haven't found anyone so far who shares my misgivings."

"Well, I don't think it much of a problem either", Riker admitted. "It's not harmful, and they'll get over the excitement within a month if we don't give them the idea there is anything the matter with it."

"I'm not so sure, Will. I'm not so sure there _isn't_ something the matter with it. Take Geordi – apparently it actually does something for him. I don't want to deprive him of it, but if the thing truly alters the way his system reacts to those implants then it could have a profound effect on the system itself. I don't like it. And I certainly don't like the way he's been acting ever since I came back from Mavvion."

Riker frowned. "Acting as in – ?"

"Not paying attention. Refusing to take things seriously. All but dismissing the Data problem. I've been wondering if we are speaking the same language."

"I suppose we must allow for a degree of euphoria", Riker said thoughtfully. "If I were to find myself in his situation I'd feel the same. Just imagine – getting your heart's desire when you have given up hoping for it."

"I'm talking of behavior that occasionally borders on neglecting his duties, Will. I can't be sure it has anything to do with that thing, and I've tried to be impartial – apparently I am not, and it shows. But frankly I'm losing patience with the situation. It's bad enough without having to worry about whether or not my officers are listening."

"A question of discipline, sir?"

"Verging on it. It's nothing I could pin down so far, but I confess it makes me uneasy."

"Well, it does ring a bell", the first officer said thoughtfully. "I'll have a look in on him – although Deanna is already monitoring him, of course. But, Captain, I think I've spotted a reason for that sort of thing, and I didn't have to look half as far. _Everybody_ is unhappy with what we're doing right now."

"Most of the crew don't even know what exactly we are doing."

"They know they've been taken off an easy assignment for the second time running, and it's evident that Starfleet have been changing their minds _again _over something or other and that we're at the receiving end of it. The Hellicon Cluster would have been a godsendright now, but damn it, we were there for four whole days before we were told to pick up those delegates instead! I can't blame anybody for being on edge."

"You are quite tired yourself, Will", Picard stated unexpectedly.

"_And_ on edge, is that what you mean, sir?" He caught Picard's expression just in time, and grinned appreciatively for a moment. "All right, I suppose I am. Not as much as you – with all due respect. If there's anything I can do – "

"You could locate Data for me."

"Touché", said the first officer, sobering instantly.

"That wasn't meant as a rebuke, Will. We all seem to be functioning at less than full efficiency. I still haven't been able to get rid of the impression that we're missing something." He frowned, shook his head very slightly, his fingers going to a spot between his eyebrows as if drawn there. Riker watched him, frowning in his turn.

"Headache, sir?"

Picard nodded, wincing a little.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Riker, suddenly concerned.

"Yes. I am. I just don't seem to be sleeping too well these days."

"Our present assignment?" Riker ventured.

"All sorts of things I suppose."

_Celt_–, Riker started to think, and interrupted himself. _Damn. And don't assume things, Will. I'll have to ask Deanna - she'll know_. "Perhaps you should try out Deanna's device after all", he suggested half-seriously.

"I'll be damned first", Picard replied, quite pleasantly. "Carry on, Number One – I'll join you in a minute."

**- - - - - -**

"Well, at least we know one thing after this infernal diagnostic", Geordi said, giving the central control table in Main Engineering an affectionate pat. "We got one well-running ship. Okay, guys, that's it. Everybody who's not absolutely essential here can go off and get drunk – may be your last chance before that standing yellow alert. – You noticed we've found the source of that power surge, didn't you, Worf?"

"I did." Worf tore himself away from his frowning contemplation of the steadily thrumming warp core. "It has stopped. What was the source?"

"Conduit gone haywire as expected. You shouldn't have any more problems with it now."

"Very well." The Klingon considered for a moment, apparently on the verge of leaving; then he stopped and addressed the intercom.

"Computer, locate Captain Picard."

"The captain is on the bridge."

"Look here, Worf, if you want to do me a favor, could you just – " Geordi began, looking slightly pained.

"Computer, locate Commander Riker."

"The commander is in Turbolift Four."

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Commander Data."

"Lieutenant Commander Data is not on the ship."

There was a brief pause; then Worf shook his head. "The delay is still there."

Geordi looked at him for several seconds as if to make sure Worf wasn't having him on. Then he said: "You actually mean that, do you."

Worf frowned slightly, evidently waiting for Geordi to make his point.

"Yes. Stupid question. But look here, you can't seriously... I mean, doesn't it strike you as a bit presumptuous to believe you actually know better than the main computer?"

"No", said Worf briefly. Geordi had a feeling that he would have liked to leave it at that, but after a moment's hesitation the Klingon deigned to elaborate on the point. "I do not know _better_. The computer has not told you there is no delay. If you would time the computer's response you could compare it with earlier results."

"Yes, that might work if it had ever been timed before", said Geordi, letting his annoyance show clearly now. It had been a long day, and having to work without Data hadn't made things any easier. And now, right at the end of it... it was preposterous. It was as if Worf was deliberately trying to wrench some sort of problem from the evidence. In fact he probably was, thought Geordi – the _Enterprise_'s Chief of Security sometimes seemed to take a perverse pleasure in chasing enemies of his own imagining. Rather like a cat pretending to itself to believe a reflection on the wall a butterfly, just for the pleasure of hunting it down. But right now he had no patience for that sort of thing. "And to the best of my knowledge it hasn't. I can't think of any reason why it should have been. Look, Worf, I'm sorry, but sometimes it's just running away with you. You _want_ to hit on a security risk, so you find one. And I don't even know how this could possibly impair security, but no doubt you'll think of a way. We've this minute completed a level-one diagnostic, man! Really – "

"You _have_ seen the power surge", interrupted Worf, sounding annoyed in his turn, his voice rising a little in that vocal equivalent of leaning forward Geordi knew so well.

"Yes, damn it, I have! And we replaced the circuit, and it's gone! And even if you're right and the sensors _are_ a bit slower, where the hell is the problem? You're talking centiseconds here, you know that?"

"If this was a problem with the engines, nanoseconds would matter to you. And if Commander Data was here", Worf said pointedly, "he would corroborate what I said."

_That's it_, thought Geordi. _I've had it. I've had it with him barging in and teaching me my job. Talk about paranoia. _I'll_ be developing one these days if he doesn't leave me alone_. He did not say any of this aloud, of course. But when he did answer his voice had a carrying quality that made crew members within hearing stop and turn their heads.

"Look here, Worf. I'm just doing my humble best _without_ Data, okay? Same as you up there on the bridge. I don't mind hard work, but I do mind being lectured about it, and I'll thank you for remembering that I'm the chief engineer down here. What about just doing your job, and letting other people get on with theirs?"

He hadn't really meant it to sound quite like that, and even while he was speaking he felt himself wondering what Worf would do next. You didn't address a Klingon in that manner. But he was angry, and getting angrier as he spoke, and the words seemed to be shaping themselves without much conscious thought.

There was a moment of silence when he had finished. Geordi had never seriously expected Worf to lash out at him, but neither had he expected the reaction that came. True, he could see the muscles in Worf's jaw working for a second or two, but after that the answer was, by Klingon standards, quite soft. In fact, he thought with an unpleasant little start, he had never known Worf to sound quite so icily restrained before.

"With all due respect, _sir_, that is what I am doing. I am perceiving a security risk. I would like to follow it up. With your permission, _sir_."

"Oh, Christ", said Geordi, his anger evaporating as quickly as it had risen. "Sure. You want to indulge yourself with a security risk – be my guest. Feel free to do the diagnostic all over again if you like." He gave an involuntary sigh. "Look, I'm getting the impression we're all a bit under the weather right now. I'm not apologising for what I've said, mind you, but I'm not too happy with the way it came over. I'm sorry if I've been out of line. Let's just carry on, shall we?"

"Certainly. _Sir_", said Worf.

**- - - - - -**

Beverly Crusher looked up from her monitor in some alarm as the captain strode into her office. There was something in his bearing that told her well in advance that this was not a social visit.

"Beverly", he said almost brusquely. "A minute of your time, if you don't mind."

"Always, Jean-Luc. Do sit down. What can I do for you?"

"Galinski", said the captain without preamble, sitting and tugging down his uniform tunic. Beverly sat back in her own chair behind her desk. "He was taken to sickbay after Worf had stunned him. I had no idea he's still here. All I wanted to know was what caused him to behave like that."

"Well. It's simple, in a way – emotional overload. He had a number of personal problems, and a tendency to blame others for his failings. Apparently he thought other people were getting preferential treatment, and that his commanding officers had it in for him. He somehow managed to stay out of Deanna's way, and then all of a sudden he snapped. Admittedly, he must have snapped quite spectacularly, but it happens, you know.He's been thoroughly depressed ever since he came out of that phaser stun. Otherwise, he is fine physically. Which reminds me of something you'll be thrilled to hear, Jean-Luc. Your own physical is overdue – as usual, I _might_ add."

The captain dismissed the issue with a shrug. "Let's disregard that for the moment. Beverly, have there been any other cases of _emotional overload_ lately? Any more nervous breakdowns, or anything of the sort?"

The doctor frowned. "Not to my knowledge. We don't usually _get_ nervous breakdowns. We're not supposed to, on this ship. You could ask Deanna, of course... You have a particular reason for asking that?"

"It strikes me that part of my crew is acting somewhat strangely these days. This man's nerves snapping in the shuttlebay, one of Worf's people apparently going off in a creative euphoria when she was supposed to be compiling a report, Myers' behavior..."

"Well, if getting killed in an accident is your notion of acting strangely – "

"I'm referring to his behavior before he had that accident", replied Picard, stung and a little defensively. "And then of course there's Data, and Geordi doesn't appear to mind very much that they still cannot find him."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. The two I can help you with are Galinski and poor Myers. One had a bad case of jangled nerves, and the other broke his neck." Beverly tilted her head, considering. "And if there are any implications I should be drawing, I'm afraid they elude me", she added finally. "Let me tell you something, Jean-Luc. You're simply trying to make sense of an accident that's so pointless it is sickening. You won't find it, no matter how much you try, and you're not doing yourself any good."

"I wish I knew what you are getting at", said Picard.

"Do you? Well, in that case I'll tell you. You're tired to death. You needn't look at me like that, I'm not the first to notice. Neither am I the first of your crew to notice that weariness tends to make you worry."

"If you're going to bring up that physical again – "

"Now, would I be doing such a thing", said Beverly dryly. "I might, of course, but unfortunately I can't just have you strapped to a table. I simply want you to get some rest. To be precise, I want you to get eight hours' uninterrupted sleep tonight, and I want you to stop fretting. That way you'll be doing your ship a much better service than by driving yourself half crazy over a string of unpleasant events. In fact, I'm making that doctor's orders. Just to be on the safe side", she added.

The captain nodded, his thoughts very clearly elsewhere. "Yes. Of course."

"Jean-Luc, have you heard one word of what I've just been telling you?"

"I've heard you perfectly well. Eight hours' uninterrupted rest. Doctor's orders." He looked at her across the desk, the perfunctory amusement barely covering his troubled expression. "Beverly, your guess in this is as good as mine. What in the world could have happened to Data? Why do I have this feeling that I am the only one who is taking this at all seriously?"

She looked down on the tricorder she was toying with, frowning slightly. "I don't think you are. It's just that... well, we've tried everything we can think of. In fact Will did that even before you came back from Mavvion. Until something new turns up there's quite simply nothing we can do about it, so why not concentrate on the matters at hand for the moment? It's not as if we didn't have our work cut out for us. And you", she added, pointing an accusing finger at him, "are the last person on board who should allow himself to be distracted by yet another thing. You have a delicate mission ahead of you, for Heaven's sake."

"What do you think could have happened to him?" insisted Picard.

Beverly sighed – quite audibly, he thought. "I haven't the slightest. I just don't _know_, Jean-Luc, and repeating the question won't get me any closer to an answer. And – forgive me, but Data is not my primary concern. You are, right now."

"So what you would suggest is that I just report him missing and get on with it?" he demanded sharply, annoyance and desperation vying in his voice.

"I don't think I'm going to answer that. You're getting quite unreasonable, you know."

"Yes, I do. I was out of line – I'm sorry." He just sat there for another moment or two, then he sighed, shook his head and pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll let you get back to your work", he announced, giving his uniform tunic a slightly embarrassed tug, and left.

For the second time in as many days, Beverly watched him go with a frown. The set of his shoulders was more rigid than before if anything. "You're hopeless, Jean-Luc", she said, kindly and a little sadly. "Quite hopeless."

**- - - - - - -**


	7. Chapter 7

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 06**

Lieutenant Worf, striding down the corridor of Deck 11 on his way to the gymnasium and the first lesson in unarmed hand-to-hand combat, was aware of a feeling of anticipation. Not self-satisfaction – he very rarely allowed that – but the almost grudging realization that his idea had been a good one, killing several birds with one stone. Passing on to the new crew the kind of knowledge _he_ thought basic, quietly training some inconspicuous backup security to call on in emergencies without appearing to, giving himself a little extra practice – he had a vague feeling that it might come in useful these days, and that in itself should have been sufficient reason to take precautions. And he could do with a workout right now; La Forge's point-blank refusal to take an obvious problem seriously had strained his tolerance much farther than he would have let anybody realize. In fact he had been seething when he left Engineering, but he had a distinct feeling that he would do better to let the matter rest for the moment. There was something wrong there, and it was not a technical problem. He would look into this himself the moment he had the time.

_No workout clothing_, he had told his participants at the preliminary briefing. They were to appear in their uniforms, or normal everyday garb (he had been surprised and secretly pleased to see six civilians in the briefing room). Yes, he had confirmed, they _would_ be ending up hot and sweaty. But this was not a mok'bara class. In a real-life combat situation they would have to make do, to improvise – and they probably wouldn't happen to be wearing soft rubber-soled workout shoes that made slipping all but impossible. He had divided them into groups, set up a schedule, and sent them home. He would be starting with the group he really had had his eye on all along – crew members with the standard basic training who wished to improve on it. He had asked a few members of his well-trained security team to show up as well, to act as assistant teachers. It ought to be a good mix.

The corridor outside the gymnasium was empty, but as he approached the door he became aware of a muted disturbance somewhere ahead, implying an uncommon level of noise. Had that been a shout? Yes, he decided. Some kind of quarrel was going on in the gymnasium. He covered the final meters at a jog. The door, like the holodeck entrances, didn't open automatically; he hit a key on the control panel, and the door slid open.

The noise was considerable, and he had a brief blurred vision of a seething mass of bodies – of something that looked like a mass brawl. But before even his instincts could kick in something – somebody – cannoned into him, catching him in midriff and slamming him back against the bulkhead opposite the door, actually knocking the breath out of him for a second or two. Lieutenant Worf gasped, found his bearings, and leapt to his feet, fingers already closing about the phaser concealed under his metal sash – and a split second later he realized what it was that had knocked him off his feet. A step or so away a gray-haired woman in a science uniform was scrambling up with a stunned expression, clearly unaware of who she had collided with, or in fact where she was at the moment. Behind her, the gymnasium door was closing even as Worf looked at it, shutting out most of the noise.

It opened again a second later as Worf pushed the key a second time, and he took two long strides into the gymnasium, taking the scene in while hitting his communicator. "Security to the gymnasium _now_!" he barked. It was a full-grown brawl, involving the best part of his volunteers, and his security crew were in the thick of it. A few people were ducking behind benches or cowering against the walls. Worf spotted Singh just getting to his feet only a few meters away, a thread of blood trickling down his bearded chin, and he collected his breath and thundered: "Attention, Lieutenant!"

For a moment he thought he had got through to him. Singh froze, then turned to look at him, slow recognition dawning in his eyes. But the expression his startled superior saw forming there was one of sheer blood lust, and then Singh began quietly to advance upon him, head down, fists clenched at his sides, his dark face even darker than usual and distorted with rage, mouthing something that was lost between the din in the room and the man's own slavering fury. Worf looked round to make sure he was the intended target, then at the last possible moment, point-blank range almost, he raised the phaser he was still holding and fired. He fired again after that, neatly picking a bulky man in an engineering uniform out of the fray, and then leaped in himself and tore two people apart who were literally going for each other's throats, jerking one back by the shoulder and slamming the hand holding the phaser into the other's chin – and then the door opened again, and half a dozen security crew raced in and threw themselves into the melée.

Between them, they had sorted it out within a minute or so. Breathing a little more quickly than before, Worf straightened his uniform and surveyed the results. Walser walked up to report.

"The situation is under control, sir. Quite a few minor injuries and some pieces of broken equipment."

"What _was_ going on here, sir?" Macaulay asked breathlessly. Her thick auburn hair was hanging in coils and tangles around her shoulders; she was trying to fix it even as she spoke.

"I do not know", Worf replied grimly, tapping his comm badge. "Worf to sickbay."

"Ogawa here", a somewhat startled voice replied after a moment. "What is it?"

"We have a number of minor injuries in the gymnasium. Phaser stun, bruises – "

"Some broken ribs and noses", supplied Macaulay.

"You heard. We need a medical team. Worf out." He tapped the communicator again, then looked round and discovered the burly engineer who was now sitting slumped over on one of the benches nearby, apparently just recovering from a level-one phaser hit. He walked over to him. "You. Tell me. What happened?"

The man looked up at the towering height of the _Enterprise_'s security chief, bleary-eyed. "Oh my God", he croaked. Then, noticing Worf crossing his arms with more than a touch of impatience, he pulled himself together. "I... I don't really know, sir. We were here waiting for you. Someone said something – you'd be recruiting more security from among those still standing at the end of this class. Just a joke, of course, your reputation being what it is, sir. I'm quite sure no offence was meant. But two of your people got it wrong. Seems they took it personally. And after that..." A helpless shrug. "At the time I just felt I wasn't going to stand by and watch anybody being bullied. I really don't know what got into me, but I wanted to go for them. I _wanted_ a row. I'm sure it all sounds dreadfully childish now – it does to me, anyway. I suppose we were excited about those combat techniques, and a bit keyed up perhaps, and a few of us somehow overreacted, and – _bang_..." He illustrated the last word with an eloquent gesture. "I'm really sorry, sir", he finished.

Worf nodded once, then turned on his heel. "Singh!"

At the sound Lieutenant Singh pushed himself up from the floor where he had been sitting with his head in his hands. "Sir."

"Report!" snapped Worf.

"I..." Singh collected himself sufficiently to stand to attention. "I must assume responsibility for this, sir. There is nothing I could say that would excuse my behavior."

"I did not ask you to excuse yourself. I asked for a report."

"Yes, sir. It was as Mr. Oakley here just said. Somebody made a joke. I took it to be a joke at the expense of ship's security, and at yours, sir. I never thought twice. I..."

"What the hell has been going on in _here_?" a familiar voice asked sharply. Worf turned to find himself face to face with Beverly Crusher. The doctor was looking past him, scanning the scene with an incredulous expression that slowly turned to outrage. A bevy of medical personnel with emergency kits had entered in her wake and were already getting to work.

"Worf", Crusher said slowly after a moment or two, "just tell me this _isn't_ the outcome of your combat training, will you?"

"It is not. It is the outcome of a private disagreement." Worf was about to turn back to Singh, but the doctor was too incensed to let him go without a parting shot.

"Well, I just wish they'd _kept_ it private, then!" snapped Beverly Crusher, whipping out her tricorder and stalking away with a toss of red hair.

"Continue, Lieutenant."

"Mr. Oakley intervened, sir. Meddled, it looked to me then. Kalish shoved him out of the way, and Mr. Oakley hit him. So I went for Mr. Oakley. That's how it started, sir. I don't know what got into us. I've never experienced that kind of thing before. It just sort of... exploded." Singh held out his hands in front of him and studied them as if the answer could be found there, shaking his head. Worf frowned; then he asked abruptly: "Why did you attack me?"

"I don't know. I could see you wanted to stop it. I... I didn't want it to be stopped, sir. I wanted to have it out with them. I wanted to have it out with – someone", he finished on a note both of desperation and determined honesty.

"To have out what?"

"I can't tell. It's gone, sir. I just don't know."

It wasn't the sort of answer Worf usually accepted. But then Singh knew that quite well. He wouldn't have offered such an answer if he had had any other to offer. It had a sound of truth to it – of some sort of truth. Scowling fiercely now, Worf said one word.

"Dismissed."

He drew a deep breath once he was outside in the corridor. This should not have happened. Tensions were evidently running higher than he had realized. _Our new assignment?_ he wondered briefly. But there had been something else. Something he had seen in Singh's face had reminded him disturbingly of another expression he had seen these days. He frowned, trying to remember. When and where? He hadn't given it much attention at the time, and he had been kept busy lately. It would come back. For the moment, he would have to inform Counselor Troi of the incident, and of course the captain. Most definitely the captain, he decided, and at once.

"Computer, locate Captain Picard."

"The captain is in the phaser range."

Worf's frown deepened for a moment, his attention once again called to the faulty sensors; then it vanished. _Good_. Alpha shift would be ending in a couple of minutes, but now he would neither have to catch the captain on his way to somewhere or other and make his report in the presence of others, nor show up in the ready room at a time when Picard could not, strictly speaking, be expected to be there, nor disturb him in his quarters. He replaced the phaser in its hidden holster, pivoted on his heel, and headed for the nearest turbolift.

**- - - - - -**

As he had expected, the captain was alone, picking off colored lights with grace and precision. He never turned when the door swished open and then shut behind the new arrival. Worf supplied himself with a phaser from the box by the door but stood watching for a few more seconds before he approached, just long enough to be reasonably sure of the level Picard had set. Ten or eleven, by all appearances, which meant that he could match him with confidence when challenged.

The challenge came promptly, of course. "Are you joining me, Mr. Worf?"

"Yes, sir." Worf mounted the platform and busied himself shooting hurtling sparks of light for a couple of minutes. He knew himself to be one of the best shots on the _Enterprise_, which was as it should be. To the best of his knowledge there were only two people on the ship who surpassed him – Data, of course, and unfortunately Guinan too. Data's marksmanship he could accept with equanimity; accepting Guinan's had taken some effort. Worf had never been shooting with the captain, he only knew that Picard had a fair reputation – but as a matter of fact he would have felt quite at home with level twelve himself.

Another minute passed, then Picard said over his shoulder, matter-of-factly: "Something tells me you didn't come here for the practice, Lieutenant."

"No, sir. There has been an incident. I felt you should be informed."

"What sort of incident?" the captain inquired.

"A brawl among the participants of the combat training I proposed, sir."

"What about?"

"I was unable to discover the reason. It appears to have been mere... tension." Picard didn't need to see Worf's face to know what his Chief of Security thought of this explanation.

"Anything serious, Mr. Worf?"

A rhetorical question, Picard thought the moment it was out. If it wasn't, Worf wouldn't have sought him out in this of all places. Worf valued his own privacy, and respected the fact that others valued theirs – his captain first and foremost. He could hear the hiss of the phaser behind his back, once, twice – three times; then the Klingon was ready with an answer.

"I do not believe tension to be a sufficient explanation. The violence was considerable. Security crew were involved. I was unable to stop it on my own. Lieutenant Singh attacked me."

"What?" The captain missed, swore softly, missed again and lowered his phaser in exasperation. "You were saying, Mr. Worf?"

Worf made sure he picked off another light before repeating his last statement.

_You didn't like telling me_ _that,_ _Lieutenant_, thought Picard. Aloud he said: "Do you know of any possible reason?"

"No, Captain. What they described to me was as akin to battle fury as anything I have ever heard from humans."

"_Battle fury_?" The captain was actually turning now, forcing Worf to lower his phaser as well and face him. "You mean they went for one another for the hell of it?"

"I believe so, sir."

There was a brief pause. Worf could see the sparks hurtling on their way, unimpeded. He could also see the captain frowning. Finally Picard said, a little hesitantly: "Lieutenant, did you by any chance notice any of them wearing this wire device Geordi has taken to wearing?"

Worf was surprised, and his voice was showing it. "No, sir. I did not. They _might_ have – I did not look out for it. But it is not something I would recommend wearing during combat training."

"No, of course not." For a moment Picard seemed on the verge of saying something more on the subject, then he apparently thought better of it.

"Computer, end program", he said instead. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Just what we need on the eve of a delicate assignment. I'll have to talk to Counselor Troi. And, Mr. Worf – "

"Yes, sir."

"If this is the prevailing mood on this ship, then I think keeping people occupied is an excellent idea. Even if it did backfire in this case."

"I understand."

Under normal circumstances that remark would have been as satisfying as anything could be. But as Worf walked back to the door with the captain, watching Picard's frown out of the corner of his eye, satisfaction was not what he felt. Something wrong here. It was worrying the captain. It was disturbing Worf himself. Where had that feeling of uneasiness come from – that feeling that he should be getting into shape after those two weeks wasted on Mavvion? And why did he now feel like nothing so much as running another check on the weapons systems here and now?

Nonsense. Not here and now. If he was to turn up in Engineering again after that scene with Geordi it would only give people the idea that he was being nervous about something. He left the turbolift on Deck ten instead and strode towards Ten Forward. Riker would be there, and the first officer had to be informed of this. And Worf might as well have dinner with him.

**- - - - - -**

"Well, I suppose it's only fair that you should be having problems with discipline at last like everybody else", Riker commented somewhat bitterly. "I've had to chase them all through that damn diagnostic, I've been lecturing Benedetto, and now I've had a row with Kwame in Hydroponics over something he called a report. Tempers are running a little short on this ship. Here's to one quiet evening." The first officer downed the best part of his synthale and turned his attention to his roast. "They must have done something to the replicators", he decided. "This has rather more bite to it than last time. Black pepper, I think."

"Not bad", commented Worf.

"I'll tell Guinan you said so next time I see her. – I bet she was thinking of you when she did it", he added with a glance at Worf's plate. "Tell you what, that meat is going to get up and walk away any moment."

Worf stabbed a fork into his roast as if to prevent that danger from occurring. Riker grinned. He liked his meat a little underdone himself, but there had been a time when he would have called what Worf was eating a bloody mess. "Where's Alexander, by the way?" he asked abruptly. "You seem to be having a lot of time to yourself."

"He is staying with the family of Dimitri Chelnikov."

"Oh", said Riker. "He's friends with little Pjotr?"

"Yes. And he can speak Russian with the Chelnikovs."

"What about some bat'telh practice tomorrow then?"

Worf nodded readily. "As soon as I have finished with my volunteer class."

"Oh", said Riker again, amused. "So you haven't given up yet?"

"It is a different group. Tomorrow I will be teaching the beginners", Worf pointed out.

"You know, Worf, I don't believe your motives for this would bear investigation. – Yes, thanks, Ben, I _would_ like another lager. Hey, tell me one thing, how long have you been wearing that device? You didn't have it last time I saw you."

The waiter grinned. "Been given it – oh, yesterday, I think. By a young lady I see. It's fabulous. Ever thought of getting one yourself, Commander?"

"No rest for the wicked", retorted Riker. "I'm paid by Starfleet, remember – on duty twenty-six hours a day."

"Just shows how right I was to remain a civilian. Another pint of synthale coming up straight away, Commander." Ben snatched the empty glass away from under Riker's nose and vanished. "That guy _was_ right to remain a civilian", stated the first officer emphatically.

"He bothers me", commented Worf.

"Talks an awful lot, but he's all right. Quite a poker player, did you know? I'd like to know what Guinan would have to say about that little gadget, by the way. The captain doesn't like it much."

"No. He is right. It is a stupid toy."

"It can't do any harm. He keeps worrying about it, and it's really not worth the bother. In fact I told him as much."

"He will have his reasons", stated Worf, frowning a little in spite of himself as he recalled that question in the phaser range.

"Frankly", Riker said before Worf could pursue the thought, shoveling up a forkful of peas, "I think he may be looking for reasons in the wrong place. Everybody on this ship is cracking up. We were going to recommend shore leave after finishing with the Hellicon Cluster, Deanna and I. And now Starfleet serves us that kind of trick. It's enough to make anybody lose patience. I have a theory why the captain has taken such a dislike to that device."

Worf looked up questioningly, knife suspended in mid-air.

"It does look a bit like a Borg sensorscope, doesn't it?" Riker said bluntly.

He could see Worf's brown knuckles turning white for a moment as the Klingon's fingers tightened about the knife, and a thought flashed through his mind: _Hell, you too, Worf – and after three years_. The thought was gone before he could quite grasp it, and now Worf said, his voice a rasping growl: "He would never let that interfere with his judgment."

"I wasn't suggesting that he does. In fact he told me in so many words that he couldn't think of a good reason to ban it. I just wish he'd get that thing out of his mind – he's got enough to worry about, and he's taking it much too seriously. I'm afraid the real problem is that we've driven everybody pretty hard lately, and at some stage there's bound to be some serious trouble."

"We seem to be having some serious trouble", muttered Worf, stabbing at the remainder of his meat.

"Well, you might have a point there", Riker agreed with a singularly wry grin. "I would have liked to see Singh going for you. Do you know what it reminds me of? That time we had Ambassador Sarek on board. Only this time it's Starfleet providing us with the trouble. And in a way, the captain's having decided where to look for the source of the problem isn't making things easier for me."

"You believe he is prejudiced", Worf said.

"I believe he's as tired and as unnerved as any of us, that's all. And I do think Starfleet might have picked somebody else to saddle with this Cardassian mess right now. There's a limit to how much you can deal with, and I'm getting a little tired of having to sort out things Starfleet Intelligence has messed up. Ah, thanks, Ben.You didn't by any chance think of bringing some more prune juice as well, did you?"

"Too busy eavesdropping, Commander. It's Starfleet Intelligence business again, is it? I thought as much."

The two officers looked up simultaneously, both of them scowling, and Ben's easy grin faded rapidly. After a long moment, Riker said quite softly: "Look here, Ben. I don't know what you mean by _again_, and I don't know what you think you're putting together here, but I do think you've gone as far as you should right now."

"No offence meant, sir. I won't repeat it."

"No", said Riker firmly. "I'm sure you won't." He watched Ben's retreating back, making quite sure that Ben could feel his look following him across Ten-Forward.

"You're right, Worf", he said. "He's beginning to bother me as well."

**- - - - - -**

"So you see, that cloud is about the most exciting place in the galaxy short of Rura Penthe", Crewman Andrew Ferguson concluded a few tables away, and the four people sharing his table nodded. "It makes you wonder what the captain thinks he's doing, doesn't it – waiting around in a damned nebula for the Cardies to turn up and use us for target practice."

"Who told you all this?" asked Nurse Cavour. "I had no idea it'll be the Cardies again!"

Ferguson flashed her a wide smile. "A little bird told me. Well, in fact it was Barclay. You know him, don't you, Céline – that tall lanky guy from Engineering."

"If Barclay says so", snorted Dualle. "Wasn't it Barclay who told that wild story about blowing up a Cardassian superweapon when all we really did was plant some mines?"

"_We_ did. I heard the captain really was reassigned to blow up a Cardassian superweapon", Storgat put in, reaching for his drink. "Not that I believe it."

Ferguson and Dualle exchanged a pained look. Ever since Ensign Storgat had joined the Astrophysics department there had been an ongoing discussion about the Bolian temperament. One school of thought held that Bolians tended to be phlegmatic by human standards and that Storgat was a typical representative. Another claimed that on the contrary most Bolians were volatile by nature and that Mr. Mot was better suited to represent his homeworld in that respect – a view enthusiastically supported by the barber himself. In that case Storgat's wholly undisputed talent for deflating a good story would have been uniquely his.

"Well", Katchourian said somewhat hastily, "_I_ have heard he was sent on some mission by Starfleet Intelligence and something went wrong."

"Sounds as if that might be bits of the same story. Not that there's anything wrong in blowing up a Cardassian weapon", remarked Dualle, to grins and chuckles all round. "They're bad news. Those three we had on board – remember the stories O'Brien used to tell? By the way, Daniel, what did go wrong?"

"Don't know. It was just gossip anyway. But Worf and Dr. Crusher were gone at the same time, weren't they? And turned up again rather earlier?"

Nurse Cavour nodded. "Dr. Crusher had had a sprained wrist, too."

"How do you know?"

"It had been set by Lieutenant Worf, and had to be re-set."

"Uh-oh. Yes. He set my ankle for me once on an away mission", Dualle said, grimacing at the memory. "He made a good job of it, too. Still, a Klingon sickbay must be one place I'd avoid like hell."

"Don't think they have sickbays. It's probably dishonorable or something." Ferguson threw a cautious look back over his shoulder and found that Worf was, indeed, looking at him – or rather, in their direction. It was highly unlikely that even a Klingon could understand any of it over the distance, and the subdued babble and hum of conversation all around them, but the look was disconcerting nevertheless. Dualle, who had seen it too, lowered his voice involuntarily.

"Come on now, Daniel. We'd like the rest of the story. You know perfectly well who came back when, so stop pretending. You're _working_ in the shuttlebays, for Heaven's sake."

"But I don't know the rest of the story", Katchourian said patiently. "The commander took a shuttle out and came back with Worf and Dr. Crusher. That's all. Later Riker and La Forge went out with a shuttle full of mines, to frighten that Cardassian fleet out of that nebula. I have no idea when the captain returned – actually I don't even know when he left. Those were bits they kept very secret. They did clear Shuttlebay III of all personnel once, and there was talk about a Cardassian shuttle arriving and leaving again. Perhaps that was when the captain came back. I wasn't anywhere near, though."

"Some Cardassian mess. Like that time we went after Maxwell. I thought it a shame to stop him. And now we're obliging them again, is that it?"

"Says Barclay, says Ferguson", Storgat interposed dryly.

"Well, if it's true it's a damn shame. Makes you wonder if Starfleet ever learn anything. Or the captain, for that matter. For all I know we were cutting it rather close last time. I _would_ like to know what we are in for now."

"So would I", Storgat said, phlegmatically.

"Would you?" Ferguson winked at Céline Cavour. "Perhaps you two just keep asking the wrong people. What would you say if I told you the place where we're supposed to be meeting with that Cardassian ship is going to knock our sensors out for good measure – ours, mind you, not theirs?"

"Impossible", said Katchourian. "I'm just as sick of pretending they can be trusted. But that would be idiocy. The captain's not an idiot."

"Perhaps he takes his orders from idiots." Ferguson shrugged. "Anyway, that's what I have heard."

"From a little bird in Engineering", sneered Dualle.

"From Szegi. The Zaldan, remember him? He's the one who had to check the external sensors during that diagnostic. _And_ check them again, because Lieutenant Worf told him to. And there's another thing Barclay told me." Ferguson had everybody's attention now, and he was enjoying himself. "That Cardassian superweapon. It was supposed to be there, but it wasn't. The whole thing was a trap, and they walked right into it. Starfleet's orders, you understand. We're lucky we're still here. Only we're doing the same thing all over again right now, and this time Picard is taking the ship with him."

There was a short silence. "Whew", said Katchourian at last.

"That's a real beauty", commented Dualle.

"But if they know about the sensors – ", objected Cavour.

"Starfleet's orders, sweetheart. They tell us to go, we go. Right into a Cardassian trap if required." He smiled. "You wouldn't and I wouldn't, but some people do, you see."

"Wait a moment. All of that must have been classified, certainly?" Katchourian asked abruptly.

"Why, yes." Ferguson was still looking at Cavour, shrugging slightly. "Of course. Just knowing who to talk to, I suppose. Well", he admitted, "maybe there are more people on this ship who aren't happy about this, and would like to do things differently this time."

"I'm quite sure the captain will handle it", remarked Storgat. He finished his drink and directed a thoughtful look into his empty glass. "I like this Milikan Shooting Star", he decided with a firm nod.

"Oh, well, have it your own way then", Ferguson said after a tense moment, pushing back his chair. He had noticed all of a sudden that for all his efforts, when Céline Cavour smiled she was usually smiling at Storgat, and his mood had changed abruptly. He was about to get up when he became aware of the dead silence that had fallen. The others were looking past him, their expressions suddenly frozen. He turned to look at whatever it was that had caught their attention, and realized with a chilly start that the first officer had quietly approached the table, and was standing only a step or two away, arms crossed, head tilted slightly sideways. Neither Ferguson nor anybody else had an idea of how long he had been there, but Riker's expression indicated clearly that it had been long enough. When everybody had finally turned the first officer took another easy step towards them, giving Ferguson a wide smile.

"Storytelling time?"

Ferguson knew that expression. So did the others. All teeth, and eyes as cold as agate above them. Riker could be terrifying where his ship was concerned. Dualle gallantly tried to save a situation they all knew to be past saving.

"Just chatting, sir. The things you hear around here. Weird stuff, really."

Riker nodded, his smile widening further. "Really. Mr. Dualle, is it? And Mr. Ferguson?" The smile vanished. "What sort of stories do you think you're spreading around here, Mister?"

"Just... things I've heard, sir. I didn't think about it", replied Ferguson through clenched teeth. He was in for it, and he knew it – and resented it, not so much for the fact itself as because Barclay who had told him all that classified stuff in the first place would be getting off lightly. He was a lieutenant. La Forge would protect him. Ranking officers didn't get into trouble – they had others to do that sort of thing for them.

"You should. In fact you know all about handling classified material that happens to come to your notice. That'll be a reprimand on your record, Mr. Ferguson, and if I catch you again trading that sort of thing you'll be in serious trouble. This applies to everybody on this ship, of course." Riker studied the faces one by one, as if to make sure he had been making himself clear. "That'll be all", he added after a moment, and turning abruptly on his heel he walked away.

"Damn you", muttered Ferguson under his breath.

"Barclay and Szegi", said Riker grimly to Worf, slumping back into the chair at his own table. "Seems I'll have a word with Geordi after all." He reached for his glass, downing the remainder of his drink in one gulp. "And with Deanna, come to think of it. There _is_ something weird about those guys sitting there with that device in their faces."

"So you changed your mind, Commander?" inquired Worf.

"We-ell." Riker frowned. "Seems the captain has a point. I'll mention it to him. And I suppose it'll be best if I go and talk to Deanna straight away. I'd like an explanation."

**- - - - - -**


	8. Chapter 8

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 07**

"Approaching the Mount Nebula, sir", Ensign Westaway announced from Conn.

"Very well, Ensign. Notify the captain." Riker sat up in the command chair, realizing that he had been lounging and not wishing to be caught in that pose. He heard Westaway summon the captain from his ready room and added: "On screen."

The nebula leapt into view, a green-tinged glittering cloud. "Oh, how pretty", said Troi to his left, and then suddenly she gave a sharp sigh, raising one hand to her forehead. Riker could see the other hand clench for a moment on the armrest of her chair. He was on his feet in a second.

"What's wrong, Deanna? You're not feeling well."

"I'm all right. I just felt –" She emerged from behind her hand, giving him a rather forced smile. "Something very odd. As if..."

"What's the matter?" the captain's voice asked behind Riker's shoulder. The first officer turned. "Counselor Troi isn't well, sir."

"But I am!" protested Deanna. "Don't listen to him, Captain. It's only – oh!"

"What is it?" the two men asked in unison.

"Something... wrong." She frowned, then shook her head, suddenly realizing that everybody on the bridge was looking in her direction. She sat up in her chair, giving Ensigns Westaway and Lavelle a cold stare that caused both of these young men to turn back to their respective consoles rather hastily. The captain lowered himself into the center seat. "Something ahead of us, Counselor?"

She shook her head decisively. "No. Nothing I could sense from here. Only for a moment I felt as if something had _torn_ inside my... there it is again. Oh, _no_!" Her hand went back to her head; this time there was an unmistakable note of pain in her voice. Ensign Lavelle's head snapped round again. Riker and Picard exchanged a startled look.

"You had better report to sickbay. This can't be right."

"This isn't right." She drew herself out of her chair, cautiously, as if half-expecting the floor to give way beneath her. Riker offered his arm, and she accepted it without demur, smiling shakily at the captain. "I'm sorry. I've never felt that way before. This is more like a headache than an empathic link."

"Come on, Deanna", urged Riker.

A sudden wave of misgiving prompted Picard to ask: "But it _is_ an empathic link?"

"I really don't know right now." She was still holding on to Riker's arm, but her attention was clearly focused inwards now. A moment later she shook her head. "No. I couldn't tell." Another short pause; she frowned slightly and started again. "Captain, there's something you might..." And then she stopped, looking troubled.

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Just... too many minds. I'm sorry – I'm truly not myself."

"Get some rest", said Picard. "You'll escort her to sickbay, Number One?"

"On my way", Riker replied crisply. "Let's get going."

Picard didn't look as they left the bridge together. The Mount Nebula was growing apace on the main viewer. "Slow to impulse, Ensign."

"Slowing to impulse, sir", acknowledged Westaway.

"Full sensor sweep, Mr. Worf."

Worf, naturally, didn't betray any surprise although no doubt he remembered perfectly well that sensor activity should be kept to a minimum. After a couple of seconds the captain heard his voice responding from behind and above: "No signs of any other ship, sir. Nothing."

"Go to yellow alert."

He was aware of the seeming non sequitur, and of the surprised looks from various bridge stations. "Yes, sir", rumbled Worf, satisfied.

"Take us in on quarter-impulse, Mr. Westaway. Mr. Worf, please launch those probes as soon as we're far enough into that cloud. I want you to keep a lock on them at all times."

"Yes, sir", said Worf.

Picard rose, tugged his uniform into place, took one last look at the glittering cloud that by now filled the entire viewscreen, and headed for his ready room. He was acutely aware of the eyes of the entire bridge crew boring into his back.

**- - - - - -**

In Main Engineering, Geordi La Forge put his data padd down and sighed when the call came through. "Does that man never sleep? – Yes. La Forge here."

"Report to my ready room, please", the familiar voice said briskly. "Now."

"Certainly, Captain. Now." He switched the communicator off, gave a demonstrative shrug in answer to the knowing grins of his crewmates, and headed for the turbolift.

The captain was not sitting behind his desk this time. He was standing with his back to the door, looking out of his window at the faint greenish glitter of the ship's lights reflected by the tiny particles drifting past outside and turning only when the door was sliding shut in Geordi's wake.

"Well, Mr. La Forge", he said a little abruptly. "What do you think of it?"

The chief engineer shrugged. "Oh, it's about as bad as we've been told, sir. Hell of a place to meet with a Cardassian ship."

Picard nodded briefly. After a pause he added: "You have implemented those adaptations to our shields Worf has worked out?"

"Sure, sir. Frankly, I don't think it will make much of a difference, but it can't do any harm either."

Another pause. "And you are monitoring those stationary probes from Engineering, of course."

"Yes, we are. Readings are coming in just fine. We should have about seven hours' advance warning of approaching ships – for the next forty hours at least. After that the things will start to break down." He felt himself beginning to wish the captain would sit down. Instead, Picard was wandering up and down the ready room, pausing for a moment behind his chair with his hands on its back and taking off again. Geordi found it distracting to the point of irritation. _They're right_, he thought. _He's acting as if he's dreadfully on edge. Jumpy. Wonder what's next. _

He didn't have to wait much longer. "Mr. La Forge, I don't know how long we'll have to wait for our negotiator. In the meantime I would like you to resume your search for Data. Or rather, to start all over again. This is an intolerable state of affairs. Obviously something has been overlooked. I want it found."

The incredulous stare Geordi gave him couldn't have been more obvious if the chief engineer had had eyes like everyone else.

"Start all over, Captain?" he repeated.

"Certainly. Start all over. Where's the problem, Mr. La Forge?"

"But Captain... Data's not on the ship."

"Says the computer, yes, I know. You've reminded me of that before. But we also know that Data never left the ship, and I have been informed that there have been other computer glitches. So I would like you to get to work."

Geordi gave an undisguised groan. "Captain, with all due respect, I can't believe this! I know that Worf has this thing about the sensors, but we've checked them twice running, and they're working just fine. I... I just don't know what we could do that we haven't done before."

"Have you sent somebody down every crawlway on this ship?" asked Picard, pausing with his back to the window.

After a moment of confusion Geordi broke into a relieved grin. "No, sir. You've actually hit on something I _haven't_ done."

And then he felt the grin fading from his face when Picard replied: "Well, do it now."

"Sir", he said, almost stammering, "I thought that was supposed to be a joke."

"But I am not joking. I am quite worried. I want my second officer back, or at the very least I want to know what happened to him. And I would appreciate some input from _you_, Mr. La Forge."

Geordi wouldn't have needed his visor readings at that moment to realize that he was not only worried but growing annoyed as well. That clipped tone creeping into the captain's voice was familiar to every officer on the ship. No point arguing with that.

"I'll do it, sir. Send someone down every crawlway and Jeffries tube. Scan for tripolymers, for Heaven's sake, and follow it up. There are probably some ten thousand tripolymer locations on this ship, but it's another thing we haven't done. It's just so damn _frustrating_."

"I know, Geordi", the captain said with unexpected gentleness. "If I had a better idea I would let you know. Unfortunately, I haven't. And neither have you."

"Well, you're right there, sir. I'll get on to it."

"Another thing, Mr. La Forge. For the moment I must ask you to refrain from wearing that device on duty. I am aware of what this implies for you, but frankly I have my doubts about its not interfering with your work. And right now I need my officers at their sharpest." There was a brief smile going with the words, obviously intended to take the edge off the captain's request. Geordi gritted his teeth.

"Is that an order, sir?"

"For now, yes, it is", said Picard. "I'll review it as soon as we've got this over, but at the moment I am not taking any risks."

"I understand, sir. This applies to everybody wearing it?"

The captain stopped his pacing once again. "It most certainly does. I wasn't aware that I had granted anybody except yourself permission to wear it on duty."

"Well, no", said Geordi. "It's just that it looks as if we're going to work overtime, and what would normally be off hours, and I just thought..."

"We're at yellow alert, Mr. La Forge. I don't want that thing worn during duty hours, whatever they happen to be. In their off time – true off-duty time..." The captain sighed. "I can't in fairness interfere with that. That will be all."

Geordi left the ready room, quite relieved that Counselor Troi was nowhere to be seen. He certainly wouldn't have wanted anybody to take a closer look at his emotional state right now.

**- - - - - -**

"All stop", said Commander Riker, frowning at the swirls of green that had long since replaced the stars on the main viewer.

"Answering all stop", echoed Westaway.

Riker sighed, stretching his legs. "Very well. Let's prepare for a wait. At least – "

The aft turbolift door swished open. "Captain Picard!" The voice was breathless with excitement. Riker turned in the center chair. "What's the matter, Mr... ?"

"Qualura, Commander. Exobiology. We can't proceed any further with this. I must speak the captain right away – there's something he must know immediately."

Riker rose, exchanging a disbelieving look with Worf. "And what might that be, Mr. Qualura? I'm quite sure it can wait until you've found the time to produce a proper report."

"But that's just it, Commander. It can't. You see – " And darting past Worf to one of the aft stations, the scientist waved a stunned ensign aside and commandeered a chair. "Just a moment", he announced, eagerly.

Riker and Worf exchanged another look; Worf noticed that the first officer's expression was beginning to harden underneath the amusement. "Er... Mr. Qualura, I'm sure your findings are very interesting, but you'll realize the bridge isn't the place for this. For the moment I suggest you go back to your department and prepare a report. We'll be in a position to appreciate – "

"I can't." Qualura jumped to his feet again, abandoning the console with an impatient gesture, and came hurrying down the starboard ramp, only to find Riker blocking his path to the ready room. "You don't understand. This is phenomenal – we mustn't proceed any further until we know more. This nebula is not what it seems to be. The captain must listen to me."

"I don't think so." Riker crossed his arms. "Look, this isn't how we go about things here. I won't have the captain bothered without good reason. You'll either explain yourself, or you'll depart. Now."

"There's only one explanation. There is a lifeform in this nebula, Commander – perhaps many. The nebula itself may be a lifeform if the scans can be trusted. The electromagnetic readings are quite unmistakable. If we were to proceed further we might do inconceivable damage. Certainly the captain wouldn't want to risk that?"

Riker frowned at that, then he turned to give Lavelle at Ops a questioning look. Lavelle quickly checked his console, then he shook his head, his lips mutely forming the words _No way_. Riker turned back, deftly interposing himself between Qualura and the ready room door again. "I'm afraid there's no indication of that – and anyway the Mount Nebula is hardly uncharted space, Mr. Qualura. Is there anything to back up your claim? Any clue whatsoever?"

"Not right now. I have a theory, though – I've been working on it for years. This may be my scientific breakthrough – we can't afford to take any risks. Commander, I'm sure Captain Picard would wish to hear about this. I must and will speak to him."

"He's not available. Anyway, the ship's not going anywhere right now. You are, though. You're either leaving the bridge this moment, or I'll ask Mr. Worf to assist your departure."

Qualura hesitated, looked longingly at the ready room door, then, nervously, at Worf, who was halfway down the ramp by now. "Commander, I implore you – "

"That way", Riker said firmly.

"Have it your way, Commander. You're making a horrible mistake." Worf took another step, and Qualura hurriedly made for the turbolift, giving the Klingon a wide berth as he went. Worf turned to look after him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

"Any ideas what _that_ was all about?" asked Riker, rather taken aback.

"No", Worf replied briefly. "But it was not worth disturbing the captain about."

"I agree. I _won't_ have him bothered with that sort of thing on top of everything else", said Riker, grimly, and slumped back into the center chair.

**- - - - - -**

"Well, Céline", said Beverly Crusher. "This isn't the final analysis, but from what I've seen so far the DNA should be compatible. You'd have to be very conscientious with checkups, of course. But I really can't imagine why it shouldn't be possible. Anyway, you know who to see about it."

Nurse Cavour smiled at her with a mixture of embarrassment, relief and elation. "So you believe -"

"If _that_ aspect is the only thing you're worried about I'm tempted to ask what you're waiting for." She looked up from her monitor to give Cavour a mischievous smile. "I _like_ him, Céline."

They both noticed a very slight movement from the door at that point. Céline Cavour looked round, turned scarlet, and fled. Beverly felt the corners of her mouth curving upwards as she sat looking down on her monitor again. "Do come in, Jean-Luc. I'll be at your disposal in... another second. There." She tapped a key to clear the screen and looked up.

"I didn't realize my presence was quite that obvious", the captain commented, coming forward into the office. "You looked occupied enough."

"You've been _hovering_ in that doorway. It's very difficult to ignore you when you're hovering." She switched the monitor off. "I hope we haven't been boring you, but that was rather delightful. With what's going on here these days I should be an expert on interspecies mating by now. You wouldn't _believe_ who's been in and out here lately."

"I might not. Beverly, could I have a word with you?"

Her amusement faded abruptly. "Well, of course. What is it?"

"For one thing I'm a little worried about Deanna. I have never seen her quite like today. How is she?"

"She should be much better by now. I got rid of that headache and sent her off to her quarters to get some rest, and I absolutely forbade her to make any new appointments for today or tomorrow."

"What was it?"

"Stress. She's been blaming herself for Galinski's breakdown, and of course the mood on this ship is getting to her. And this morning Worf waylaid her and told her all about that stupid row in the gymnasium. She said she should have sensed the tension building up before it happened, if you'll believe that! And you can imagine what happens when someone like Deanna fancies she must try harder."

"Yes", said the captain. "It must be overwhelming."

"It was", Beverly said flatly. "She couldn't tell the difference between the minds pressing on to her from outside and the reactions of her own system any longer. And now", she added, "for the _real _reason of your visit."

Picard didn't smile. "Something rather peculiar occurred to me just now. Beverly, just how many people have come to see you over that device Deanna has introduced?"

"You're still concerned about that? About eight or ten I suppose. Why?"

"Because she told me she would send everybody interested in that thing to you for regular checking. And from what I can make out the total number is nothing like eight or ten."

"It may have been a few more. Really, is it that important?"

"Would you just look them up in the computer for me, please?"

Beverly shrugged and tapped a few commands into her keyboard. "There", she said after a moment. "Thirteen, actually."

Picard swiveled the screen round and studied it, frowning. "Damn", he said softly after a moment or two.

"What is it?"

"La Forge. Oakey. Singh. Szegi. Macaulay. Benedetto. Half of Engineering, and all people who've been in some... Dear God", he added suddenly, interrupting himself. "I wonder – Galinski? Beverly, has _he_ by any chance been experimenting with that damn gadget as well?"

"I think I'm getting your drift", Doctor Crusher said with dry amusement. "Don't tell me _you_ are developing that habit of looking up symptoms in the medical library and doing the diagnosing yourself. Barclay does it all the time. It's something that drives doctors to distraction."

"I am not diagnosing myself or anybody else", he replied, unreasonably annoyed by her tone. "I'd like some answers, though. Beverly, exactly how long has this thing been running rampant on my ship?"

Her eyebrows arched in mock dismay. "Why, Jean-Luc, now you _are_ referring to a disease!"

"I may well be", he replied somewhat grimly. "I _knew_ I was overlooking something. How come that most of these people have been in trouble lately? How come – "

"Stop", Beverly said sharply. "That's making assumptions about my patients, you know. I won't have it."

"It's making assumptions about something that is undermining the discipline on my ship, Doctor. We've had nervous breakdowns of every description. Yesterday it was that brawl, involving Worf's security, of all things, and some trouble in Ten Forward. Today it was Deanna herself breaking down in a way I have never seen before. I told Geordi that I won't have any more of that thing until we're safely out of this nebula again, and from his reactions I can only assume that this will be a blow to everybody in Engineering. Now I'm getting this list. Doesn't it strike you as rather suggestive?"

Beverly rose, coming out from behind her desk.

"Jean-Luc", she said, putting a tentative hand on his arm, "have you ever considered – really considered – the possibility that you might be overreacting? There's one thing about Deanna I haven't told you so far. She is worried about you, she said. Seriously worried."

"I'm sorry to hear it. No, I don't think I am overreacting at all. There is something very strange going on, and you'll admit I have a responsibility in the matter. Beverly, you seem singularly disinclined to answer my questions. Now I'm asking you as my chief medical officer if Myers was wearing that device when he died."

"No, _Captain_, he was not", Beverly answered angrily.

"That other man – Galinski? He was taken to sickbay as well, wasn't he? What about him?"

"Do you seriously believe I wouldn't have looked into it if he had been carried in here wearing the device?"

"I don't know. I frankly don't know what to believe any longer. Deanna was so sure about the beneficial effects of the damn thing that I never took the trouble of taking a closer look. But I'm beginning to suspect there is another aspect to that freeing of the mind, and if it's doing what I think it is doing to my crew it must be stopped. This has gone far enough."

"I agree. It has." She crossed her arms, looking at him thoughtfully. "By the way", she added abruptly after a brief pause, "I seem to remember that I gave you an order to get eight hours' sleep last night. You didn't."

"God knows I tried", he answered, angry in his turn. "I'll rest all you like once we have sorted this out, but until then I have other things on my mind."

"Yes, I can see that. I'll tell you one thing, Jean-Luc. If you refuse to look after yourself you're forcing others to do it for you. And if you keep neglecting your own well-being you're endangering your ship, your crew, and your mission – and never mind the device. You know what that means, don't you. It means that I may have to relieve you of your command until you have regained your equilibrium."

"You wouldn't."

"I would." Her expression was strangely detached. "You keep telling me wonderful things about strange coincidences and your responsibility to your ship. Well, I have a responsibility too. And when a starship captain starts behaving irrationally it's down to his chief medical officer to do something about it. You know that as well as I do. I can relieve you if I decide you are unfit for command, and if I find I have no choice in the matter I will so decide. Don't get me wrong, Jean-Luc. I don't think I'll have to, actually. But you must wind down, and you must get some rest. You are losing your grip on things. And yes, I do mean that."

"I don't believe you do", he said, his voice chilly with anger now. "I have not the least idea what kind of service you think you're doing this ship. What I do know is that I don't like what seems to be going on here, that people appear to be uncommonly wary around me, and that I am not getting any acceptable answers at all."

"The next thing you'll be telling me is that there is a conspiracy going on aboard the _Enterprise_", she said, very calmly.

That stopped him. The captain stared at her, open-mouthed for a couple of seconds and quite suddenly very pale. Beverly bit her lip.

"I'm sorry. I know how this must sound to you. But you've simply refused to listen when I tried to explain that you're chasing shadows because you're too tired to see things in their proper perspective any longer. Instead you keep telling me that everybody is acting strangely – everybody, apparently, with the sole exception of yourself. Well, what if you're the one who is acting strangely? It would make much more sense from a medical point of view, believe me. And that your behavior has been just a little at odds with what we're used to from you... well, that's something other people could confirm. You'll just have to take my word for it – your reactions to what I've just told you are part of your condition. And your condition is overwrought to say the least."

"So what you're telling me is that I'm paranoid about all this?" said Picard softly. There was a stunned, frozen calm in his face – _as if I'd slapped him_, she thought with a lurching feeling in her stomach. But it was too late to be turning back now.

"You're certainly acting it. If I could prove what I think it comes down to I'd be doing something about it here and now. I'd have a hard time justifying it, though – to myself as well as to Starfleet. It's not a thing I like to consider, and you've never given me reason to consider it so far. I do want you to review your attitude, though."

"I will. I'll be reviewing a great many things", said the captain, still with the same calm, and turned to leave the office.

**- - - - - -**


	9. Chapter 9

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 08**

Beverly Crusher's eyebrows shot upwards when she saw who was entering her sickbay. _What a day_, she thought wryly. _Never a dull minute_. Lieutenant Worf was not a frequent visitor. In fact she suspected that he came in far less often than he should have, given the nature of his recreational activities. Regulations would have required him to report any injury, however small, and she was reasonably certain that small injuries were the rule rather than the exception after an hour or two in one of his holodeck scenarios. She had ventured to give him a hint a couple of times, but Worf's usual response to unwanted good advice was to point out that this was _not the Klingon way_ or, if that was not feasible, to pretend he didn't understand what it was all about. Of course the Klingon way was not supposed to stand in the way of Starfleet regulations, and so it had been the latter response on these occasions – and in Worf's case Beverly knew better than to press the issue.

This time, however, there was no doubt about his condition. His left sleeve was gashed, the amber of the fabric discolored to a murky brown, and although he was clutching his arm with his other hand there was blood dripping from between his fingers, leaving dark splotches on the carpet. Beverly groaned and grabbed her tricorder.

„Right here, Worf. Let me have a look at this."

The wound was deep, clean and bleeding profusely. „Bat'telh practice, I take it", she said without surprise, cutting away what was left of his sleeve.

Worf nodded. „Commander Riker's technique is improving."

„Yes, I have no doubt about that. He made a very good job of it. Alyssa!" She looked round in irritation The door leading to the main ward was being kept open today; there had been a number of minor bruises and ailments. „Would _somebody_ come here, please? Alyssa, the corophizine – now, if you don't mind."

„Straight away, Doctor!" came the response from the direction of the main ward. A few seconds later the nurse appeared, hypospray in hand. Beverly frowned. „About time. What is everybody doing in there?"

„I'm sorry. We've been discussing – Oh, Mr. Worf!" gasped Ogawa, only now noticing the amount of blood that had by now dripped on every surface within reach. Beverly put her hand out again.

„Autosuture, please. Thank you. I'll want ten cc's of rythanine as well."

„Rythanine?" Worf inquired, suspiciously.

Beverly nodded briefly, running her tricorder over the wound again and frowning.

„More?" Worf asked with a trace of annoyance.

„Worf, I'm sorry, but I _have_ to make sure there are no threads of fabric in the wound", she explained patiently. „And there's another thing. I'm going to patch this wound up. That gash is simply too large to mend completely on the spot. Yes, I know it _can_ be done, but I like to be sure the tissue is knitting properly. I'll give you a healing agent now, and I want you to administer another dose of it tonight. You understand the importance of this, don't you."

She had to wait several seconds before he came up with a growled „Yes" that somehow sounded both reluctant and dismissive, but she deliberately forced the reply before continuing her work with a mental sigh. Worf was easily one of the worst patients she had ever had to deal with, ranking just a little below Barclay on her personal list – if that_. I wonder what I'd prefer if I was given the choice _–_ a hypochondriac or a warrior_, she found herself thinking. Just occasionally she forgot just how irritating he could be until some chance encounter brought it forcibly back to her. The wound had stopped bleeding by now, and after a final pass with her tricorder she nodded to Alyssa to hand her the adhesive dressing the nurse was holding for her, and took some pains to apply it as firmly as possible. She had no confidence whatsoever in her patient doing the sensible thing, such as cooperating and taking care of himself. Worf watched her ministrations with detached interest. _Oh, yes. Full warrior mode_, she thought wryly. Well, to give him his due, some of his attitudes might be constantly irritating her, but any doctor would have found his stamina and total disinclination for self-indulgence refreshing. And just observing his reactions occasionally could put things into perspective. He was so utterly predictable, so confident in those att-

And there she stopped in mid-thought. _To think I'd actually be grateful for predictability_, she mused, and then _Well, but with the way Jean-Luc is acting these days you can't help coming to value _–_ now wait a moment, Bev. I wonder what Worf would have to say to – _

„There", she said, abruptly coming back to the job at hand. „That should do it. You've damaged quite a bit of muscle tissue, so I would appreciate it if you kept away from your bat'telh for the next three days. At least", she added, resignedly.

Worf nodded, once up, once down. „I will use the singlestick."

Beverly sighed, then decided to try again. „You couldn't possibly do without any calisthenics for those three days?"

„There is a combat class tomorrow", rumbled Worf, a feeble attempt at sounding apologetic. _Being diplomatic_, Beverly thought, and: _Why do I keep trying?_ Aloud she said: „Just as well I know. I may see you again soon, then."

Worf gave a noncommittal grunt and began to inch towards the door. Beverly deftly interposed herself between him and his escape route. „Worf", she said, catching hold of his uninjured arm with both hands. He stopped, looking down on her from his towering height; she thought she could see the beginnings of a frown. It was difficult to tell with him, of course.

„There's something I'd like to put to you. It concerns the captain."

The frown deepened, but at least she had stopped him for the moment.

„Frankly, I am a little worried. He's been driving himself as hard as ever, Worf. You know what he is like. He's wearing himself out with all sorts of doubts and suspicions just when I wish he could save his strength and get his peace of mind back."

It had an effect, but not the one she had been expecting. Worf's shoulders jerked back.

„If the captain sees cause for suspicion I will – "

„No!" she said hastily and rather louder than intended. But fortunately her staff remained out of sight for the moment. „Not the sort you have in mind. Worf, this is difficult for me to say, but I'm concerned about him. He is terribly on edge. And after what they did to him on Celtris III – "

She saw Worf's eyes narrow to baleful black slits. It had clearly been the right thing to say. She had his attention now.

„Worf, to be honest, I'm not sure he can handle this mission. It's almost as if he'd do anything rather than even face it. Here we are, sitting in a nebula waiting for a Cardassian ship, and he keeps telling me how concerned he is about that little device Deanna is prescribing. It's so unlike him to take such a violent dislike to anything, and it's become almost an obsession with him. I've tried to remind him that the danger is out there, and he'll come straight back to that thing. He seems to believe his crew are somehow deceiving him about it – that there are things going on behind his back – "

Now Worf was shaking his head very slightly, very thoughtfully, and she paused a moment to let it sink in. At last he said in his deep growl: „It is not something I have noticed, Doctor."

„Well, that's just it. Neither did I, and... oh. You mean the captain's attitude, don't you. No, I don't suppose you did. It's been such a gradual thing. It's just..." She paused again, and he felt her hands tightening about his arm; he wished she would let go of him. Human emotion was too... _touchy_ for his liking. „Worf, there is a point where nervous exhaustion begins to feed on itself and becomes a kind of spiral. When you reach it you're past the point of judging your own behavior impartially. You could go off in almost any direction. I can't help being a doctor, and right now he frightens me a bit. It may all go well. But if it doesn't we'll have a crippled ship and a thousand people with a badly shaken commanding officer facing whatever we're up against out there. You see?"

That one had been wasted. She could see his jaw tightening, and just then his wish to be elsewhere was coming across as clearly as if she had been the ship's Betazoid. He actually shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

„I do not anticipate such a situation."

„I didn't say I do. I am just trying to be prepared for the eventualities, Worf. And that, in this case, includes speaking with you. Your part will be crucial in this no matter how things go."

„You _believe_ him to be breaking down, Doctor? You wish me to be prepared to execute someone else's commands?"

Instinct made Beverly draw back a little at that.

„I didn't say that either, Worf. It's just... I want you to be aware of the situation. We've been on Celtris III together, remember? Whatever happens, you'll keep your head. _You_'ll remember where the danger lies." She gave him a smile which he thought looked more than a little forced. „I don't want him – or anybody on this ship – to come to any harm."

„Neither do I", replied Worf, and then, feeling that something more was expected of him, he added: „I understand, Doctor"– although he was far from sure he did. She smiled up at him again with a very soft „I'd hoped you would", letting go of his arm at last. He took this to be a sign that she would not again hold him back if he had a mind to leave now, so he left.

He was glad to be out of sickbay, gladder even than usual. There had been something alarming about the conversation, but for some reason the alarm had gone off the wrong moment. He had felt acutely uncomfortable. He didn't really want to be told these things, and as a rule Beverly Crusher knew better than to unburden herself to him. But then people had been somewhat lacking in restraint these days. He toyed with the explanation that humans were rather careless in deciding who to confide in, then dismissed it. Doctor Crusher's behavior had in fact been most uncharacteristic.

She must be seriously worried. He could have reassured her, of course, but it would have prolonged a conversation that was already jarring on his nerves. Whatever was happening, it was not what she thought it was. He had never, ever, seen the captain lose his composure. He was not willing to accept the possibility that Picard was losing it now, neglecting the danger over something Worf regarded as a stupid toy, unworthy even as a pastime. Concerned he might be, but that – no.

Of course the captain _had _been deeply shaken. But that didn't mean he could not handle this situation. He had handled worse things. No need for Doctor Crusher to worry herself or others – unless, of course, the captain really _was_ aware of something untoward going on aboard his ship. That sort of thing would be very much his, Worf's, business. _I will ask him_, thought Worf, relieved.

The relief lasted about half a second. She had _said_ that Picard was concerned about that thing – to the point of losing his perspective. In fact, thought Worf, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable, it had an unpleasantly familiar ring to it. The wretched little device did attract a foolish amount of interest. The captain himself had asked him about it. It _had_ been an odd question, quite uncharacteristic. But Beverly Crusher had spoken of an obsession with the thing, had all but said that she could not reach him.

Well, _he_ had noticed nothing of the sort. He didn't believe it anyway. Of course she knew the captain from quite a different angle, but still – if it hadn't been for that unprecedented appeal to his own levelheadedness just now he would have dismissed the whole business without further ado.

Worf frowned, slowing down a little as he neared the turbolift; he wanted to sort this out before returning to the bridge – he had a few simulations to run. Then he remembered his ruined uniform. _I must change first_. Just as well. He didn't need any distractions now.

That he was rational, far more rational in many ways than could in fairness be expected of any Klingon, he knew perfectly well. He would not have been where he was but for that odd ability to review whatever his instincts told him through a grid of reason. But for Beverly Crusher to appeal to that ability – that was something else entirely. She had never done it before. In fact he had been under the impression, occasionally at least, that rationality was not something Beverly Crusher expected from him at all. She had never spoken to him the way she had just now – confiding in him, as it were. Enlisting his aid, seeking his reassurance, in effect contrasting his own attitude with the captain's, which was very strange. The captain was the most rational man Worf could think of, and...

She was relying on _his_ rationality, then. How worried would she have to be to alert him – and what could he provide that others could not? _We've been on Celtris III together_. Yes, that was one thing they shared. And a responsibility –

He almost stopped in his tracks. Yes. A _responsibility_. Was that what she meant? That they had to look after the captain, even in spite of himself? That they had to take care of the situation if he could not? She was the only person on the ship who could ultimately decide such a thing, of course. It was a heavy responsibility. And he – Chief of Security – he would have to –

Nonsense. This was utter foolishness. He was considering things as if the captain _needed_ them to look after him, and he, Worf, happened to know better. He couldn't remember a single instance that implied the captain was growing irrational. Perhaps he should have told Beverly Crusher so, after all. Her concern was honorable, though, and she had been so serious, so desperate to convince him...

He stopped again, physically this time, right at the intersection of two corridors. Yes, she had been, hadn't she?

Worf didn't usually second-guess himself. That sort of thing was for chess-players and diplomats, like the captain. But the longer he reviewed what Beverly Crusher had told him, the more disturbing he found it. If she believed she was right about this, shouldn't she be talking to Commander Riker first? _Wouldn't_ she be talking to Commander Riker first? So why him? Didn't she trust Riker either? What was _he_ supposed to make of it? If the captain should indeed be losing his perspective, obsessed with some idea of his own –- which he was not, Worf was sure of that –

Wasn't he? Or had she managed to make him doubt it, after all? Why was he reminding himself of something that was so utterly self-evident? Had she managed to make him doubt the captain – to enlist his aid in _what_?

The thought tore through him like a stab. _No_. As if anything could. Absurd, preposterous, dishonorable. He, Worf, was not being any of these things. Had she _wanted_ him to think along those lines? And succeeded? How dared she? Appeal to his rationality in order to do – this? She was dishonoring them both. To be sowing doubts on your commanding officer's judgment, suggesting disloyalty, even, behind that commanding officer's back, to his Chief of Security –

Why?

He was angry now. Something had been threatened – something that should have been far above and beyond threat. But still – she had called him rational, hadn't she? – he had to go over this. _I will not ask him_, he decided reluctantly. There _was_ something very strange going on here. What was it she wanted? What was the real danger – for there was a danger, he was sure of that now, else why would Beverly Crusher do such a thing? And – what did she expect him to think and do next? Having put things to him the way she had, how was he – Lieutenant Worf, Klingon Head of Security, well known for his zeal and thoroughness – supposed to be reacting now?

He would be rational with a vengeance, he decided as he strode into his quarters.

**- - - - - - -**

„I just hope this is the last piece of trouble from that quarter", said the captain, pushing the last padd to one side and reaching for his tea mug instead – only to put it down again when he realized that the contents had grown lukewarm.

„You don't sound very convinced, Captain", Riker commented from his own side of the desk.

„I've come to feel less than optimistic about getting through to Commander La Forge", Picard replied a little grimly. „Still, perhaps you've been more successful. What exactly did you tell him?"

„Well, I've been telling him that somebody in his department is handing out classified information and that I expect him to find the leak and stop it. I've told him the names of the two people I want him to check particularly, and I've added a few choice personal comments. He wasn't happy, but of course he said he'd sort it out immediately. What's wrong with that?"

„Will, if Geordi has made anything clear these days it is that his priorities may not be the same as ours. And it is an unfortunate fact that he is the only person in Engineering who has official access to these reports."

„Oh, Christ." Riker got up rather abruptly and took an impatient turn about the room. „So you're suggesting – "

„No, I'm not", Picard replied wearily. „I am _not_ suggesting that Geordi has been deliberately leaking classified material, which is what this would come to. What I _know_ is that anybody other than Geordi would have to have done some very sophisticated decoding and rerouting to get at the files. Either that, or we have a massive computer glitch that didn't show up in the diagnostic."

Riker sighed, made for his chair again, then decided to remain on his feet behind it, arms crossed on its back. „Which isn't likely, but somehow I can't see Geordi all of a sudden regaling everybody with the Celtris III affair either. He could have done that earlier if he'd wanted to. It's more than two months now. Why would he suddenly lose all sense of – " He interrupted himself. „Oh, no. Captain, you can't possibly think..."

„I don't know what to think, Will. I do feel that his performance hasn't been up to standard lately, and it's getting worse. He just doesn't seem to care. Not about Data, not about the problems with the equipment we do know about – it makes me wonder if he'll take this security breach very seriously."

„Is that why you revoked your permission to him to wear his device on duty?"

„It was what pushed the balance over. In actual fact I want everybody's mind on our mission, and I suspect the thing is interfering with that. I believe that constant euphoria about it to be a little distracting, to put it mildly."

„It probably is." Riker regarded his captain with an odd look for a moment or two, then continued slowly, almost reluctantly: „But to be honest, as far as I am concerned this whole business has been allowed to grow a little out of proportion lately. I wish we could get it over with. It's not as if we didn't have enough problems without adding this."

„Agreed." Picard shrugged, smiling slightly. It didn't come easily. „Dr. Crusher just told me to my face that I am being paranoid about it."

„To be honest, sir, you are, a bit", said Riker. A moment later he added: „With all due respect."

It did not dull the impact in the least. After a few seconds of absolute silence, Picard almost whispered: „Will, _what_ was that just now?"

„I'm sorry, Captain. That wasn't how I wanted to put it at all. Only... well, you've been rather, shall we say, preoccupied with this lately. Rather more than it warranted in fact. It's just a harmless toy. Quite pleasant, even quite beneficial for some people. I agree that it might become somewhat overrated, and that we should have an eye on it. But the effects you're ascribing to it – " He trailed off.

A little too matter-of-factly, Picard asked: „So you don't even see a possible connection with the problems we're having right now?"

„Captain, I've been racking my brains for a possible connection, mainly because you suspected one. If there is a point to this I don't get it. And what's more important, the people down there in Engineering don't get it. They're being worked off their feet right now, I'm not sure how many more breakdowns we'd be having _without_ that device. Don't get me wrong, sir, it's not the fact that you don't like it. It's just that it seems to have become the answer to everything. _That's_ what's bothering me. It's... well, it just doesn't sound like your kind of solution, somehow."

„I see", said Picard dryly. „So in actual fact _I_ am the one who is obsessed with the thing, rather than anybody else."

Incredibly, Riker seemed to fall for the lighter tone of that. He came up with a slighty crooked and very relieved grin. „Well, not exactly. I suppose Geordi _has_ been asking for it. He keeps going on about it – it's been getting on my nerves as well. Not to mention Worf's." He pushed himself back from the chair. „I'd better go and have a look at Shuttlebay II. It shouldn't be anything too serious. And I'll call at the Hydroponics lab while I'm at it – just to make sure there aren't any more complaints about cutting power to their equipment. I'll keep you informed about things in Engineering..." He found himself lingering by the door. „That is, unless there's something else you'd like me to attend to? Sir?"

The captain kept him waiting for an answer for a few seconds; in fact Riker wondered for an instant if Picard had heard him at all, and there was something he didn't like about the way the pause made him feel. He pushed the thought out of the way, determined not to think it. _Nonsense. That business about Shuttlebay II, now – _

At last, very softly, the answer came: „That will be all, Will." And Riker fled the ready room.

**- - - - - -**


	10. Chapter 10

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 09**

The captain gave himself a few moments to pull himself together after the first officer had left. Now, to himself, there was no denying that he was shaken, much more than he would ever have shown, more than he had first thought, that there was a dull ache as if he had been hit, hit hard, just below the ribs; it took him a conscious effort to steady his heartbeat. _What was_ that_ about? Will wasn't serious, was he? Then why am I taking it like that? What's happened to everybody round here, for Heaven's sake?_ And then, inevitably: _But_ has _it happened to everybody around here? Beverly said – _

_No. Stop it. I can't start second-guessing myself, I'll just get paralyzed. _

But things were getting out of hand. One way or the other, it was high time to do something about it. No point in this –

He drew a deep breath and addressed the intercom.

„Computer, locate Counselor Troi."

He had thought he knew what the answer would be, and was a little surprised when the disembodied voice replied: „Counselor Troi is in her office."

_She should be resting_, he thought, and at the same time he felt a certain relief. At least he could broach the subject in a semi-official manner – as, indeed, he should.

He touched his communicator. „Picard to Troi."

„Troi here. What is it, Captain?"

„Could you spare me a few minutes, or are you occupied?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. „I am rearranging my files, Captain – you cannot in good conscience call that _occupied_. You are most welcome."

„Very well. I'll be there in a minute. Picard out."

She was sitting in the armchair by her small table, wearing her counselor's serenity like a badge of office. The captain lowered himself onto the sofa, feeling acutely uncomfortable and out of place. It had never before occurred to him that he usually spoke with Troi either in his own quarters or in his ready room – places, he realized now, where he felt at ease. Perhaps they neutralized some of the inherent advantage she had over him, that added insight which he could not match and which sometimes, and certainly at this moment, made him a little nervous.

„You're still wearing that thing", he said.

„I'm officially off duty, Captain. Doctor's orders." She gave him a small smile. „Yes, I know what you told Geordi – I met him in the turbolift. But in fact I've never worn it during appointments, and I wouldn't even if I had your permission. It seems to enhance empathic links, and that might have been difficult to handle – both for myself and for others." She crossed one leg over the other and tilted her head towards him. The smile grew warmer. „So much for me, Captain."

Picard felt himself relaxing a little. „Do you know why I wanted to see you?"

„I think I would prefer to hear it from you."

He sighed. „Very well. You are aware of my feelings with regard to that device. I've tried to keep an open mind – apparently I haven't been too successful. So much for _me_... Now we've had a series of unpleasant occurrences that started more or less at the time the device was introduced – people behaving erratically one way or another. I didn't see any connection at first. It just seemed to be getting worse. Today I saw a list of the people who have seen Doctor Crusher over that device – sent there by you, I understand. There wasn't a name there that hadn't been linked with some sort of trouble lately." He drew a breath. „When I pointed this out to her, she told me I am being hysterical about the whole issue – paranoid, in fact. I have since heard the same thing from Commander Riker. I haven't, for all my efforts, heard a satisfactory explanation for the problems we're having. I am very concerned about all this, Deanna. I would like your opinion about it."

„About what aspect of it, Captain? The device, or what has been said to you?" She shook her head. „No, don't answer that. It was obvious the moment you came in. You are quite upset."

„I suppose I am. Deanna, I don't know what to think. It's as if I had ceased to speak the same language. What I believe I see is an obsession with that thing, and a total refusal to consider any side-effects it may be having – to the point that the discipline on this ship is breaking up. But then I'm told that I am the one obsessed with it, and that I am seeing problems that aren't really there. I should have thought that the rows and breakdowns and breaches of discipline we've had would register as facts, but nobody else seems to be making the connection, and meanwhile things are getting out of control. Frankly, I'm at a loss what to think about it."

„A rare admission. Could it be that it is the giving up of control that's at the core of the issue for you, sir? The voluntary giving up of control by others who are willing to trust their own unconscious and the fact that this is something that is beyond _your_ control?"

„Are you telling me that I am obsessed with control?"

Now she was looking amused. „Captain, obsession is not something people would normally associate with you. But if you had one, it would probably be with control. Not over others – but you'll admit you feel rather strongly about anything you perceive as a loss of control over yourself..." The amusement faded. „And it seems only natural that when this... mastery... is threatened, you'll tighten your grip on the reins. If anything your recent experiences have reinforced this. You are worried and tired and far from fully recovered, and this assignment must have stirred up some ghosts for you."

„Deanna, I believe I told you at the time – "

„Forgive me, Captain", she interrupted, „but what you told me _at the time_ was that you were so brutalized you would have broken down in another minute or so. That there was nothing you wouldn't have said, or even believed, if it would have stopped them from torturing you further. Don't get me wrong, sir. Nobody in the world could find fault with that. I don't know how many people would have held out as long. But your sense of reality was collapsing, and you know it. You are aware that it can happen. It frightens you, and you would do anything to keep it from happening again. But – " She was studying her hands for a few seconds, a troubled expression on her lovely face. At last she looked up. „There's a proverb about _not seeing the wood for the trees_, isn't there? In fact it's something every psychologist knows. In a way, you may _have_ ceased to speak the same language."

„I'm afraid I don't understand."

„What you have been through is an experience unique to yourself, something nobody else shares with you. You have been wounded in a very tender spot, and it colors your responses – more, I believe, than you realize. In a way you are creating your own reality, and something that makes perfect sense to you may sound quite strange to others. Right now you believe you see your control of the situation slipping again. Now if you would allow yourself to let go, to take a step back – find yourself again and find some peace – "

„Don't", he interrupted sharply. „Don't _you_ start telling me that my nerves are playing tricks on me and that things will look quite different once I have had some rest."

„Very well, I won't", she replied, rather dryly. „But – Captain, have you ever considered the possibility that you _might_ be biased in your evaluation of all this? Prejudiced, even?"

„I have. In fact I know I am. I dislike the whole idea of that thing. We've been over this before, haven't we? Believe me, I'm aware of my own angle in this. But there are some facts here that have nothing to do with it. And whatever I may have thought of it before, it now surpasses my worst expectations."

„I see." She shifted in her chair; for a moment he thought she would rise and come over to him; then she apparently thought better of it. „But, sir, your horror of letting go of the reins – even if only for a time and only to some other part of yourself – is not shared by everyone any more than your personal experiences are."

„Must you trace _everything_ back to Celtris III?"

„Look", she said, very gently. „I told you before that some experiences will take time to get over. You have never, ever, allowed yourself enough time. You _will_ try and force yourself to heal. It doesn't work like that, sir. You may convince others, and even yourself, for a time, but it will come back, and it may come back in a form you didn't expect."

„Like chasing shadows of my own imagining?" he demanded harshly.

„Like allowing your concern for your crew and your own very real fears to distort the picture, Captain. Don't judge yourself too severely."

„So what you're telling me is that my experiences are seriously impairing my judgment, that I'm developing an obsession with control, and that my arrogance in assuming I know best keeps me from even considering the possibility."

„You have called it that, Captain. I haven't. What I do say is that you are pronouncing on something you don't even know, while refusing to get to know it. I'll leave it to you to decide if that is arrogance, or what else it might be. But in fact I was going to suggest something that might resolve all of this."

He looked up quickly, hopefully. „Which is?"

„Try it. Try it now. I'll monitor you."

„But you told me the effect isn't immediate."

„It isn't. It takes a few hours at least to be felt. But the very first effect it has is to clear the mind – not to cloud it, as you seem to fear, or distort your thinking. You could see that much for yourself, and you wouldn't need to go any further from there." She smiled a little sadly. „You can trust me, you know."

Picard was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. „I do know that. But still... I don't think so. I may not be objective now, but then neither are you – and at least at the moment I'm aware of it. What I have seen of the workings of that thing makes me doubt I would still be aware of it afterwards."

„I expected as much." She appeared to be collecting her thoughts for a couple of seconds; then she looked up with an air of having come to a decision. „Very well. You came here for my opinion. You are an explorer, Captain, but when it comes to your own mind you are terrified of the unknown. Sometimes you will shut it out rather than facing it. I believe you are afraid of what you might find, and there is nothing you fear more than the thought of breaking up. You're shutting it out now, and you cannot bear watching others exploring the mind without fear. And no, you are not objective – you are very far from it."

„Deanna", he said carefully, speaking against a rising panic now even while he knew he could not hide from her, „I don't think you understand. I am trying to protect my crew from something that appears to me risky at best, and as badly timed as it could be. We have an assignment. We haven't come out here to – to explore our unconscious, and I don't believe that Geordi, for one, would voluntarily have chosen his present attitude if he had known in advance what it would entail."

„Protect them, sir? Are you sure you are not trying to protect them from themselves – deciding what is good for them and what isn't? What you are trying to keep from them is the knowledge of their own hearts' desire, do you realize that? I believe they have a right to that, and normally you would be the last person in the world to deny them this right. And many of your crew will neither understand nor appreciate your interfering in this, you know."

„Well, we'll just have to remember that I am the captain of this vessel, then", he said, rising. „This has gone far enough. Counselor, I'm sorry, but in the end I have to rely on what I believe I know. And that, in this case, is that things have been going from bad to worse on my ship since that thing has been running rampant on it, and that as long as there is a possibility it is responsible for that I cannot tolerate it any more."

She was looking up at him, alarm and concern on her face – concern not for herself but, he realized with a sudden pang of fear, for him.

„Captain, do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

„I believe I do. You're telling me that I am cracking up, and I don't think I am. We're talking at cross purposes – we have been doing that ever since I came in. I don't like going directly against your advice, Deanna, but I don't think I have a choice left in the matter."

„What are you going to do now?"

„I don't know. But I will do _something_ before I allow everybody on this ship to betray themselves and everything they've come out here for."

„Are you sure that is wise, sir?"

„I'm quite sure it's the right thing to do." _Hoc volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas_. The words came to him unbidden, like a comment from someone else; he hadn't thought of them for years. But he _was_ sure – wasn't he? He wasn't just imposing his will upon others, taking their choices upon himself, taking over _their_ minds, was he? What was he doing here anyway – seeking reassurance? About what? His sanity – or that he was doing the right thing in trying to shield his crew from – _that_?

An obsession with control. Was that what it was? What if he was indeed losing his mind?

_For God's sake, give it a rest_.

Then he realized that he was still standing halfway between the sofa and the door and that Deanna was still looking at him, and that the doubts chasing one another through his mind had just contradicted what he had told her a moment earlier, and that she was reading him like a book. The confusion, the effort to get through to what he knew – _knew_ – to be the convictions of his own sane, reasoning mind. The slowly rising anger, the chilling suspicion that nothing he could say would change her opinion about his attitude – about his mental state. And something he wouldn't even consider right now, something... frightening –

And all that under the eyes of his counselor.

„Captain", she said, almost in a whisper. „Sir, please, you mustn't..."

„It's all right", he said hoarsely, turning away. „I'll find the way, don't worry."

It was like a release to be out of her company after that. He walked down the corridors with no thought but that of regaining the peace of his own quarters. But when the door at last slid shut behind him he was aware only of an unwonted loneliness – loneliness and a deep, aching sense of betrayal. Beverly. Will. Deanna. Had he ever before quite realized how completely he trusted them – how much power went with that trust, until now? How come it could hurt so much?

What next? _For Heaven's sake, what do I do next?_

Well, there was one thing he had to do. He turned to his private terminal and hit a couple of keys. A moment later a high two-note whistle reverberated through the room. It would reverberate through every room and corridor of his ship, overriding every page and signal and communication in progress.

„All hands, all decks, this is the captain. I need your full attention. You may have taken note of a wire device intended to promote peace of mind that has proved popular lately. There are indications that it may interfere with the carrying out of duties, and the discipline on this ship. For the duration of this mission and until further notice the use of this device is banned unconditionally. Picard out."

His mind reeling, he turned away. _What have I done now? Made an immortal fool of myself?_ Across the room he could see the Mount Nebula glittering outside the windows. Already his own words seemed unreal, as if they couldn't possibly have been uttered by himself. It had become uncannily familiar of late, that feeling of reality slipping away. Hadn't he been entertaining the idea that something was going on, some secret agenda was being pursued on the ship, behind his back – to be shocked almost out of his mind when Beverly put it into words? A conspiracy on the _Enterprise_? He had seen witch-hunts before, he had told himself that it must never, ever, happen to his own judgment, and now –

He dragged himself back from the edge of the chasm that seemed to be opening up beneath his feet. _Stop it, Jean-Luc. Now. You're simply driving yourself to distraction_.

No point in starting to second-guess himself now. He could be wrong either way, there was no way of telling any more. But all his instincts told him that something was wrong with that thing, that it had done something to those who advocated it, something uncontrollable. Well, it did do something to the mind, was supposed to do it – wasn't it? How could anybody allow this to happen – or expect him to allow it when something within him recoiled in horror at the mere thought?

For the truth was that he _was_ terrified, terrified of the thought of allowing anything to lock on to his own mind, probing – or was it indeed, as Deanna said, terror of what he might find there? It might well be. He truly didn't know. And he truly didn't want to know.

_Don't deceive yourself. You know perfectly well_.

_No_, he thought. _I don't want to go over that again_.

So it was about loss of control after all, wasn't it. About having another will imposed upon you, your choices overridden, your convictions violated, your mind invaded against... No. _No_.

_They don't understand. How could they?_

Very well, so his experiences were influencing his judgment. All experiences did that, always. And since his judgment had been trusted far enough to make him captain of Starfleet's flagship and commanding officer of a thousand people, certainly he must be allowed to take his experiences into account when deciding where to take them. And he couldn't allow anything like this to be done to them. Once, perhaps, but not any longer. Not with the responses implanted in him since then, that instinctive horror –

_I believe you are afraid of what you might find_, she had said.

_I am._

Had he really spoken, or was he imagining the words? And was this at all like losing your mind – this breaking down of the barriers that kept things apart, the spoken word from the silent thought, memory from the passing moment?

_I can't_ –, he thought, no longer certain what it was he was trying to keep at bay. And then the barrier collapsed, as he had known it would, and he felt a moment of gratitude because he was where he was, and alone, and at least there would be no witnesses to what was to follow...

... that place he had been taken to on the Borg ship, shivering in the thin cold air, a chill, uncomprehending terror slowly growing in him until it seemed to him that he could hear the passages and machinery echoing with his heartbeat. They had stripped him to the skin, the whirring and clicking of their cybernetic enhancements all around him; and he had not struggled then, sensing that it would avail him nothing, saving his strength for whatever was to come.

_I will resist you with my last ounce of strength._

But when it came, he found that the Borg knew, that they had been right all along.

Strength was irrelevant.

Strength of the body, strength of the mind, the will – all irrelevant. They had overcome his resolve as easily and effortlessly as they had cut through his skin, probing, acquiring, right down into the deepest recesses of the soul, and he had been still, all links severed, unable to move, to cry out, unable even to take refuge in unconsciousness, his mind held just as his body was, immobilized. They had not even used restraints on him when they started on the surgery. He had kept still, quite still, his caged mind looking on in incredulous terror as they took him over, thrumming metal and circuitry locking on and merging into him, and he might have screamed with anguish and revulsion, but he could not.

_How much do you remember, sir?_

_Everything_.

And he had remained so, unresisting, extinguished, silenced to become the voice of that other mind, a name torn from his own against his will.

_I tried so hard – _

It had not been good enough by far. Had they ever noticed? Had they experienced one fraction of a second's difficulty in overcoming his desperate will to resist, one heartbeat's delay before the barriers his mind was trying to put up? It would have been some comfort, some last, desperate shred of comfort, something salvaged of what he had been, but this was a place where it didn't matter what he was and where all comfort was left behind, and he had never been able to deceive himself for long. They had not. He might have spared himself the trouble. His resistance _had_ been futile, right from the beginning; his struggling meant nothing to them, left no trace in their collective mind. No notion _why_, no interest, no hate and no mercy. They were beyond all that. Nothing he did or thought or felt would ever get through to that mind, that gigantic work of machinery that had effortlessly broken him.

It was three years now. He had put it firmly into the back of his mind. But sometimes, when he was alone and tired or off his guard, it would come back to him, a waking nightmare, and he would find himself transfixed, remembering, remembering.

_We would rather die_.

But he had not been given a choice, certainly not the Klingon way of escape into an honorable death, not then and not afterwards when his pride and honor were in shreds and there was nothing left in him to protect or to salvage. Too late then, even though there had been moments when the memories had seemed too much to bear. The freezing terror and the deep, abiding fury at what had been done to him, the anguish and the shame. The crushing weight of that unspeakable horror, Wolf 359, a betrayal, a failure that had scarred and stained him for the rest of his life –

_I intend no harm _– _no harm..._

And then there had been the moments when he had forced himself out of black despair by sheer force of will, telling himself that he would not break, _would not break_ – not now, after all that had happened, not after somehow, in some utterly incomprehensible way surviving that hell and pulling his ship and crew... and... and he shrank at the thought of what besides... out with him. Not after they had risked their lives and so much beyond that to save him, and had stood with him afterwards, in spite of everything they had witnessed. Will. Data. Worf. And Beverly and Geordi and Deanna, and, yes, Shelby, and all these others – these thousand who still looked to him, unflinching, unafraid of what he had been. It had been torture at times to force himself to meet their eyes, but if they chose to trust him he could not betray them again. He could not leave them.

_Very well_, he thought, exhausted. _Let me be paranoid about it, then. It's perhaps the most precious thing there is, that right to choose. That _– _integrity..._

_I'm not going insane. This is real. I won't let that damned thing take over my ship and my crew just because they don't understand what's happening. If they still want to go along with this once we know more and this mission is over – _

Yes, what then?

And _was_ everybody, then, acting strangely with the sole exception of himself?

_I can't help it_, he thought, becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time. He was still on his feet, still standing in the middle of the room with his back to the door. And that was the Mount Nebula glittering faintly outside the curving windows overhead.

Minutes? Seconds more likely. He was weary enough to collapse where he stood. Instead he gingerly felt his way to the sofa beneath the front windows and sat down.

He should try to get some sleep he knew. He also knew, from long experience, that he wouldn't be able to, not for a number of hours; exhausted or not, the mind would not let go now. _Try thinking of nothing_, he told himself, leaning back until the greenish glitter outside filled his field of vision, willing himself to calm down. _Just... nothing_...

It would be a long night.

**- - - - - - -**


	11. Chapter 11

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 10**

"Computer," said Lieutenant Worf, "run calisthenics program Worf alpha."

"Program is in progress," replied the computer.

Worf frowned. "Who is running the program?"

"Program has been initiated by Lieutenant Nagel."

The answer gave him pause. For a few moments he considered postponing his own exercise; then he thought better of it. After all, his early-morning schedule was common knowledge, and people could be expected to respect it. "Computer," he said sternly, "open holodeck."

The doors swished open. It was his combat program all right – the beginners' level, he realized a moment later. A few steps away Lydia Nagel, her back to the door, was fending off a green-skinned, gap-toothed being with a heavy scimitar. Intrigued in spite of himself, Worf stopped just inside the door to watch._ She must have practised_, he thought. Her footwork was quite good, even though her handling of the weapon was rather clumsy by his own standards. Nevertheless, a couple of seconds later the being collapsed, dissolving in a brief flicker of light as it went down. Nagel leaned on her scimitar, gasping for breath. Worf took two more steps, hearing the door close behind his back. "Not bad. At some stage we may – "

Nagel whipped round at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening. The next moment she had brought up her weapon and was going for him with a hoarse scream; it was all he could do to stand his ground. Flabbergasted, he managed to grip her wrists just in time, deflecting the heavy blade the moment it came whistling down. "Lieutenant!" he thundered. "At ease!"

She didn't react. Instead she pulled her left hand out of his grip with a savage snarl and a strength that surprised him, and drew her nails across his cheek with one fierce unhesitating movement that shocked him even more than Singh's attack the day before. He shoved her away with a brief grunt of pain, and Nagel lost her footing, stumbled, and came down hard on the deck. For a moment she lay still. Concerned, Worf took a step towards her to help her to her feet, but he realized almost immediately that she didn't need his assistance. She sat up quickly, if somewhat dazedly, and shook her head as if to clear her mind, tossing back a shock of gleaming hair at the same time; then she rose to her knees to smile at him with a fierce light in her eyes and her upper lip pulled back far enough to display a row of beautiful even teeth.

Worf gave up any attempt at reasoning with her. Utterly confounded, he managed a "Computer, exit!", and when the door swished open he left the holodeck as quickly as he could. The last thing a cautious look back over his shoulder revealed was Lieutenant Nagel who was sitting back on her heels, looking after him with a mixture of bewilderment, incredulity, loss – and, he thought a moment before the doors closed, something very much like dawning embarrassment.

Outside in the corridor he stood for a few moments to decide on the next steps. His cheek was bleeding, and the whole scene had an unreal quality to it. He hadn't quite decided what to do when the sound of footsteps made him turn rather hastily. Commander Riker rounded the corner, stopped in his tracks, and looked him over, his eyebrows slowly rising. "Something gone wrong with the program?"

"No. Lieutenant Nagel attacked me," Worf replied curtly.

"In your _combat scenario_?" Riker asked, incredulously.

"Yes," said Worf with a trace of embarrassment, wondering at the delighted grin that was slowly spreading over the first officer's face.

"Lovely spirited girl," commented Riker appreciatively.

"What?" said Worf. Then the truth hit home, and for a few seconds he stood speechless, fighting for composure in the face of the sheer absurdity of the situation. The first officer frowned, finally becoming aware of his discomfiture.

"Sorry. I really didn't... well, I thought you'd..." Riker gave it up. "Forget it. – You can't turn up on the bridge like that", he added, indicating Worf's bleeding cheek. "Come along to my quarters. Come to think of it, there's something I wanted to show you anyway."

**- - - - - -**

Main Engineering was fairly quiet when the captain emerged from the turbolift, only a couple of minutes after the beginning of alpha shift, and stopped for a quick look round. Some technical personnel were busy about the silent warp core – doing some routine checking, apparently. A few people were moving leisurely between the consoles. Lieutenant Barclay was standing by the central control table, studying some display, and Geordi was there as well with a padd in his hand, a dark-haired young woman peering over his shoulder. The captain couldn't recall her name, but her face was inextricably linked in his memory with the cup of hot chocolate she had once emptied down his uniform front. He tended to be wary of her. As usual, he chided himself for remembering the incident but not the name; as usual, he asked himself: _Am I growing old?_ All three of them looked up when he started towards them, and for a moment he found himself thinking that their expressions were less than welcoming. Then he jerked his thoughts back into line. _Nonsense. This is getting ridiculous_.

"Good morning, Mr. La Forge. Lieutenants."

"Sir," the young woman murmured, retreating even as she spoke.

"Good morning, Captain. What brings you down here?"

There was nothing unwelcoming at all about Geordi's tone. In fact he was quite cheerful, even if the cheerfulness did appear a little forced. And he wasn't wearing the device. For the second time Picard pulled himself up sharply when he realized that it actually struck him that this was the case. _I made that a direct order, didn't I?_

"I wanted to have a look in on your search. How is it going?"

"Well..." Geordi's expression clouded. "Tell you the truth, sir, it isn't. We've been starting from scratch. My people here have been at it ever since. Scanning for tripolymers is just one of the things we've done. Nothing. You can see it for yourself – " He indicated one of the consoles, and Picard took a dutiful look at the readouts. He could hear Geordi clearing his throat behind him. "I was going to suggest something else, sir."

"Yes?"

"It's occurred to me that we may have been looking at this the wrong way. We simply assumed that something happened to Data, which really isn't terribly likely – and anyway we would have found him by now. But there was nothing to keep him from quietly going off by himself. Yes, I admit, it's not terribly likely either. But he _has_ been doing that sort of thing, Captain."

"Yes. I remember. But wouldn't we know about that by now?"

Geordi gave one of his characteristic shrugs. "We've been checking and re-checking all the other possibilities, and frankly I hate to think what the odds are against finding anything by now. Oh, we've checked the shuttle launch records too, of course, and we know there were no unscheduled launches or anything that looked at all odd. But there are more ways of leaving the ship, especially if you're an android. Data could survive for quite some time out there. And there's beacons, probes – I'll go over those next. It's _another_ thing we haven't done."

The captain found himself frowning slightly. Something about this didn't ring quite true to him – as if he had heard it once too often before. But he knew he had not. "Thank you, Mr. La Forge, I suppose that is a possibility. You have given up the hope of finding any answers on the ship, then?"

"Well, I have, in a way," Geordi confessed. "Captain, I don't want to sound callous, but frankly we've exhausted our possibilities here. We've checked everything we could think of, and when you asked us to we've checked it all again. And it's not as if I wasn't interested in finding an answer myself, you'll have to believe me there." Had that been a trace of impatience in his voice? No, it was more like a not-quite successful attempt at not sounding too pointedly patient. Picard told himself that he would hardly have noticed this under normal circumstances, and decided to let it pass.

"Very well, Mr. La Forge. Make it so."

"Yes, sir."

The captain had been in the act of turning away, but now he stopped, hesitated, and turned back. _Now what was _that_ supposed to tell me?_ How could those two words convey such a sense of... whatever it was? And had that been a smile flickering between La Forge and Barclay?

"Unless there is something else?"

"What else would there be, Captain?"

Not impatience, no. Patience, rather, tinged with a trace of forbearance. Picard was aware that both his annoyance and something much like hopelessness were showing through when he answered.

"You're aware that we're about to give up on Data, Mr. La Forge? And there is nothing – _nothing_ – else that we could do?"

"Oh, we _could_ run a third sweep, certainly. The point I'm trying to make is that if there's nothing to be found, we'll find nothing – no matter how often we try." He sighed. "However, if it would make you feel happier about this, sir..."

Picard frowned again. It all felt more wrong by the moment. There was something both about La Forge's choice of words and his way of coming up with them that sounded oddly... condescending, for lack of a better term. Almost as if he were humoring him, against his own better judgment, the way he might have humored a child.

And all of a sudden he thought he understood.

La Forge was playing with him.

Playing on his doubts, his bewilderment, even, perhaps, his fear for his own sanity, had been doing it, phrase by phrase, ever since this conversation had started, and Heaven only knew how long before today –

A moment later he was struggling to contain the wave of red fury he felt rising within himself, threatening to engulf him. Fury at having been led to consider what he had been considering, at the memory of those moments of silent anguish alone in his quarters, the realization that all of it had been inflicted upon him by somebody else. Somebody else. He felt violated, insanely, even knowing that no one had been there to see him and no one would ever know.

"Mr. La Forge," he said, very quietly, "I dislike your attitude."

There must have been something dangerous in his tone because Geordi looked up quickly, as if searching for further clues. Then he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't quite understand right now. If you'd just tell me what it is you want us to do, I'm sure we'd – "

"I believe you understand me quite well, Mr. La Forge. And I believe it is time we ended this charade."

Geordi frowned in his turn, then looked round as if to make sure there were no crew members within hearing. Barclay was watching with obvious interest from the other side of the central control table, and a couple of others turned back to their work rather quickly on noticing his scrutiny.

"Captain, might I have a word with you in private?"

Picard's expression hardened, and Geordi cursed inwardly. The conversation was already beginning to attract attention. This just wouldn't do. He took the captain's elbow, trying to steer him unobtrusively to a less conspicuous location.

"Captain – "

It was a wrong move if ever there had been one. After a brief moment of freezing silence Picard wheeled to face him, all cordiality gone.

"Mr. La Forge, _let go of me_!"

Something – whether it was an instinctive reaction to authority or the undertone of fury in Picard's still-level voice – caused Geordi to take a rapid step back.

"I... I'm sorry, sir – I didn't – "

He found he would not have to finish the sentence – and indeed he would have been hard put to think of anything to say. But the captain didn't wait for his answer. He gave him a look that would have chilled Geordi to the bone under any other circumstances, then he pivoted on his heel and left without another word. A couple of crewmen got out of his way rather hastily, flattening themselves against the bulkheads as if afraid of contagion. The chief engineer slowly let out the breath he only now realized he had been holding.

"Whew," he said softly.

"That could have gone better," offered Barclay across the control table.

"Oh, shut up, Reg," Geordi La Forge said wearily. "Let me think."

**- - - - - -**

The captain was dimly aware of a certain disquiet that seemed to be setting in the moment he stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge, but he was in no mood to pay much attention to it. Ensign Lavelle half-rose from the command chair and sat down again when he saw Picard heading for his ready room, merely acknowledging him with a brief nod. In fact the captain would have been hard put to tell which of his ensigns it was he had been acknowledging. The faces of the bridge crew were a blur. There was a roaring in his ears that had been growing louder with every second, and a dull, cold ache rising inside him, a hollow feeling dangerously close to acute nausea. He didn't feel the floor beneath his feet any more. He sensed the door sliding shut behind him and almost fell into his chair, certain that his legs would have given under him a moment later, struggling for composure as the precarious certainty bought at such horrible price the night before crumbled to nothing within seconds. For a few moments he sat with his hands pressed over his eyes, half-expecting to black out. But the faintness passed, and gradually his senses came back to him – the roaring in his ears slowly fading, a feeling of the solidity of things returning. He lowered his hands, noticing the silence all about him, the familiarity of his quiet command center.

He drew a cautious breath. The sick feeling had subsided.

_It's all right_, he told himself. _Nothing has changed_.

Nothing, indeed. Only that his thoughts and behavior down there in Engineering had been as consistent with rampant paranoia as anything he could imagine. He could see it now, as clearly as Geordi must have seen it, and –

_No. Not that, please, not that_.

How long had he been making a fool of himself, then? To how many members of his crew? How long had they been indulging him? And then, like a silent, anguished cry: _What's happening to me, for Heaven's sake?_

For a few seconds he wavered on the brink of yielding – to chaos, to despair, to whatever horror might be waiting at the back of his mind... to acceptance. Then, with what now felt like a physical effort, he pulled himself together once again. _No_.

_No. Come on – I'll just have to assume that I'm not going crazy. There's bound to be some way out of this _–

He steeled himself when he realized that his thoughts promptly returned to the device. _Very well. One way or another, that's the key._

If he wasn't going crazy, then his officers were indeed pursuing some agenda of their own. What was it Deanna had said? That it was the knowledge of their hearts' desire he was trying to keep from his crew, that they would not appreciate his interfering? People had certainly tried to throw him off that particular track – tried quite consistently, and not without success. Which suggested, under the circumstances, that it was the right track after all.

He paused at that, suspiciously checking the line of reasoning. It seemed sound enough for the moment. But then it would, to himself, he thought grimly.

Very well. Heart's desire, then. So what was it the thing was promising them? What could be stronger than duty and loyalty and everything he had come to trust – what could have happened, somewhere along the way, to make him such a threat in their eyes? Shouldn't he know – he, their captain?

_But I don't_, he thought. _I just don't know... how should I?_ _I don't even know my own... heart's desir_e... His mind stumbled over the words, even in thought. And whatever it was they were seeking, he couldn't give it to them. He couldn't allow them to have it. _Not now_, he thought, striving to win through again to the calm he had finally found the night before, _not here and now..._ He couldn't allow it whether he himself believed in the thing's properties or not. _You made a choice – all of you. We're here. We have an assignment. I won't let you quit now._

Even if they didn't understand _why_ any longer. Even if they truly thought he was losing his hold on reality – on what had become their reality. And even if the ship, his ship was coming to pieces all around him.

_I won't stand in your way afterwards if you want to pursue this. I owe you that much at least._ It hurt – worse than he would have thought possible. His charges. His responsibility. His – children...

_I'm not losing my mind_. It only broke his heart. And this time he found no peace in the certainty, such as it was. He must do something about it all, and he didn't know what. _Heart's desire_. How did you fight – that? He could not even begin to guess what he himself would find there if he were to try. And his thoughts were going round in circles, unable to focus. _Yes, I can_, his mind added, despairingly. _Just now, all I want is to be able to rest. I can't even think any more. Just rest, God, I'm so tired_...

He looked round for something to occupy him, to take his mind off the unanswerable and his own helplessness for the moment. There was a stack of padds at his elbow, things waiting to be looked at, things he hadn't managed to get done over the past few days. He had not even seriously started on the report about the Mavvion mission. It all might have been a lifetime ago, and he couldn't bring himself to start on any of it now. In the end he swiveled his chair towards his window, showing not stars but the eternal glitter of the Mount Nebula, and sat there until the ready room lights dimmed automatically, the computer assuming from the utter silence that the room must be deserted, or that he had lain down to rest – and just sat there, numbly, until the turmoil had given way to a dead quiet.

**- - - - - -**


	12. Chapter 12

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 11**

The door chime broke the silence some time later, it might have been half an hour or just a few minutes. He swiveled his chair back towards the door, and the lights in the room came up, and whatever it was that might have gone through his mind a moment ago was lost beyond recall. "Come," he called with an involuntary sigh, half-relieved, half-resigned.

It was Worf. But even before the door had slid shut in the Klingon's wake the captain knew that something was very wrong. Worf stopped a few steps away from his desk, by all appearances uncertain how to begin, and it immediately struck Picard that he had never seen his Chief of Security so blatantly ill at ease. Worf appeared hesitant, embarrassed, almost, if that had been possible in someone who radiated self-confidence much as a sun radiates heat, insecure; and the implications were staggering.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" asked Picard, his voice quite calm, trying to suppress a sense of foreboding so strong it almost made the breath seize in his throat.

Worf swallowed visibly. "There is something which concerns... which I believe I should mention to you in private, sir. I have been watching it for some time now. It is... worrying me."

_No_, the captain heard himself thinking as the walls of the ready room seemed to be slowly closing in around him for the second time that day. _Please. Don't – don't do that to me. Don't..._

"Yes?" he said.

He could see the muscles in Worf's jaw working savagely. He had seen that look in the Klingon's eyes before, too – that look that went just past his own face, avoiding him, as it did when they were, quite literally, not seeing eye to eye. About three seconds later Worf straightened.

"It is not important. I am sorry to have disturbed you, Captain."

_Yes it is_, Picard thought. _I'll have it out of you now_._ You're zealous to a fault, Lieutenant, and pretending isn't your strong point – at least if_ you_ think me paranoid I'll know where I stand. And then I'll – _

"Worf!"

The Klingon stopped, halfway to the door, half-turning; the captain saw his shoulders tense.

"Sir?"

"I have a feeling I should better hear this."

Worf turned and came back, facing him again and frowning; from his expression Picard could only assume that he must have grown utterly pale within the last few seconds. Better to get on with it and get it over with.

"Well?" he prompted.

That look. That look that would not meet his eyes. He could see the muscles tensing in that face again. Worf was choosing his words as he sometimes did, not quite sure how to put it. _Not long now_.

"It concerns... what is happening on the ship, sir. I have been noticing..." Worf paused, apparently rephrasing what he had been about to say, looking desperately uncomfortable. "I have been speaking with Commander Riker about... occurrences that had come to my notice. Things said and done on the ship lately."

"Yes?"

"I do not believe he took it seriously. Instead he... _recommended_... the device to me. He was very insistent that I should try it out immediately. Knowing how you feel in the matter, I thought I should inform you."

Picard leaned back in his chair, breathing slowly. All of a sudden he felt dizzy and weak, as if he had been holding his breath for minutes at a time.

"My God," he whispered.

"Yes, sir. I found it alarming."

The captain shook his head, too overcome for the moment to explain. He saw Worf looking at him steadily now, patiently waiting for him to compose himself. He gave himself another few heartbeats. At last, very softly, he said: "I was beginning to think I am losing my mind."

Worf pulled himself up a little in surprise, his eyes narrowing. There was another short silence during which the security chief seemed to be considering this, and failing to make sense of it. At last he came up with a single tentative "Sir?"

"Commander Riker – Counselor Troi – La Forge – they all appeared to believe... and just now – " He shook his head again, unable to continue.

Worf hesitated, frowning slightly. At last he said slowly: "Dr. Crusher implied that you might be, sir."

It took a moment to register. Then Picard looked up, his eyes suddenly wide with shock. "To _you_, Worf?"

"Yes, Captain. I had the impression that she wanted me to keep you under observation, although she did not say so."

"You never mentioned this to me," said the captain, his voice barely above a whisper again.

"No, sir. I did not know what to think. Until I had made up my mind, I deemed it best to keep my thoughts to myself."

"And now you have?"

"Yes, sir."

"I understand."

And he did. It all seemed to fall into place. He saw it now, but even now he could hardly bring himself to face the full extent of the truth – the monstrosity of it, the merciless, utter betrayal. He wondered if Worf fully understood what had been going on all around them.

A moment later the Klingon dispersed his doubts on that head.

"Why are they doing this to you, Captain?"

"I don't know. It's something to do with that damn device – I don't understand it either." He felt old and drained as he said it – as if what he had just heard had cost him the last of his strength.

"Captain, are you all right?" Worf's voice sounded concerned.

"I'm fine. Sit down, Lieutenant. It seems to me there are a few things we should work out before we do anything else."

**- - - - - -**

"Actually, I think he's on to me. I don't know _what_ it was I said, but he was pretty angry." Geordi frowned behind his visor, reliving the moment. "Oh yes, _pretty_ angry. In fact he scared the hell out of me."

"It's such a shame," Troi said softly. "He just doesn't want to understand."

"No. He doesn't. But tell you what, Deanna – I'm past caring."

"I am not. Geordi, you know what he is like. Ten days ago nobody on this ship had experienced what we are experiencing now. The way he sees it both the mission and the ship are in danger. Don't judge him too harshly."

"Well, I've never cared for this mission, and neither has anybody else – and that includes you, Deanna. _He_'s endangering all of us, _and_ his precious ship, so don't tell me he cares. And I'm not going back into that dumb hell where your Picards and Rikers are ordering you around without any notion what they're talking about. Just get to work on it, Mr. La Forge, and never say the word impossible. Neither of them could so much as diagnose a glitch, let alone sort it out, and they to lord it over me and all this machinery. No, I think I've got a better idea than that."

"A better idea?" echoed Troi. "I don't understand. What is it you're planning?"

"Can't tell you yet." Geordi flashed her an enthusiastic grin. "But I promise you'll love it."

**- - - - - -**

Ensign Lavelle was back at Ops, with Riker occupying the command chair, when the doors of the ready room swished open again. Worf strode up the ramp to his console, dismissing Macaulay with a nod, and began to occupy himself with the readouts. The first officer rose and stretched.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning, Will. Status?"

"Readings from the probes unchanged. No ships in the vicinity."

"Hm," said the captain, settling down in the center seat. Riker remained on his feet, uneasily scanning the aft consoles as if trying to catch Worf's eye, but Worf was still intent upon his readouts.

"Where's Counselor Troi?" Picard asked a little abruptly.

"She's excused herself for today. She still isn't feeling too well – Doctor Crusher said she should take it easy for a couple of days."

"I agree. She should get what rest she can," said the captain, wondering for a moment if there was anybody left on the bridge who didn't know why he wanted her to be rested – who didn't know in detail what they were doing in this nebula, in fact. Riker was dropping into his seat now. Ensign Maeno swiveled the Conn chair to face him.

"Sir, might I ask – "

"Not again, Ensign!" Riker interrupted, voice rising a little in impatience.

His curiosity piqued, the captain asked: "Not again what, Number One?"

Riker let out his breath in a sharp sigh. "Just a little exchange we've had before, sir. You were saying, Ensign?"

Maeno gave him an apprehensive look, then addressed herself to the captain.

"It's just... Sir, I'm sorry, but there's such a lot of interference, I can barely make out the readings from those probes. Just now it looked as if either we or the probes are drifting a little. If I knew what we're looking out for, I might..."

_Correction_, Picard found himself thinking. _Apparently there_ are _people who don't know the details_. He was about to answer when something in Maeno's glossy black hair caught his eye.

"What's that thing you are wearing, Ensign?"

She looked at him with widening eyes. He could feel Riker fidgeting uncomfortably on his right.

"It's... it's something Counselor Troi gave me, sir. To make me feel better when I'm scared. I'm..."

"Ensign, I thought I had made it absolutely clear that I'm not tolerating that thing on my bridge or anywhere else until further notice."

Maeno's eyes widened even further; she looked like a frightened child now.

"Sir, please, I'll try harder – but please..."

"Ensign Maeno, take that thing off. My officers have proved themselves perfectly capable of functioning without it. Now, if you don't mind."

"Sir – !" Maeno pleaded, desperately. Picard was about to bring the exchange to a summary end, somewhat taken aback at being argued with on his own bridge, when Riker intervened.

"Captain, with all due respect, I really don't think that's necessary. If it helps her cope we might let her have it. This is not a crisis situation."

"That's quite beside the point, Number One. Ensign, I gave you a direct order. I would..."

Riker stood. "Sir, forgive my saying so, but I think your reactions are a little out of proportion."

There was a pause. Maeno stared. Lavelle sat hunched over in the Ops chair, not turning, his shoulders taut. Picard looked up at his first officer, his heart pounding, and felt the silence that had fallen over the bridge like a sudden weight on his chest. _So this is it_. He had known it would come, and yet –

"Ensign Maeno," he said quietly, "will you take that thing off?"

"I'm sure there's some misunderstanding," interposed Riker. "Sir, might I have a word with you in private?"

"Whenever you like, Number One, once we have settled this. Ensign."

Even now it might have worked. Maeno's hand was beginning to move towards the device as if drawn there, her frightened eyes still on Picard's face. There was no sound either from Ops or from Tactical and the aft stations. Riker stood looking down on his captain, eyes narrowing.

"With respect, sir, there's really no need to be so hard on her."

The captain did flare up at that.

"I'll be the judge of that on this ship, Number One!"

"I hate doing this, sir," said Riker, "but in that case I must tell you that I am questioning your judgment. I've been keeping silent about it as long as I could, but there's a point when I can't ignore the facts any longer."

Silence. Everyone on the bridge seemed to be straining to listen. Maeno's lips were beginning to quiver. Picard looked up at his first officer, both hands closed around the armrests of his chair, very pale and very determined.

"Such as?"

"Such as your unparalleled disregard for the welfare of your crew, and your obsession with your personal attitudes and concerns in the face of danger. I believe you to be unfit for command at this time, and I happen to know that I am not alone in this belief. You are acting in an irrational manner, Captain, and in the best interests of the crew and the mission I am taking command of this ship."

Picard stood, one smooth movement.

"Commander, before you go any further I suggest you consider what it is you're doing here. In the meantime – " He paused, softening a little. "In the meantime I would ask you to believe me that I know what I am about."

"I've been anticipating this, sir. I'm sorry – I was hoping it wouldn't come to that." He hit his communicator. "Doctor Crusher to the bridge, please."

"Belay that order!" Picard snapped, a little breathlessly, and then he realized that there had been a brief little chittering sound from the tactical console a split second before Riker spoke. The first officer whirled.

"Worf, what the hell was that?"

"I shut down intraship communication," the deep voice replied from above.

There was another moment of blank silence. Then Picard spoke, and he was all cold now, all duty and discipline. They had come too far to be turning back.

"Commander, for the time being I relieve you of your duties as first officer of this ship."

"You can't be serious." The words came automatically, without a thought. Riker looked stunned – wholly incredulous, as if there had been no opening in his reality for the course things seemed to be taking. "Captain, just consider – "

"You heard me, Will."

Riker took a step towards Tactical. "Worf, look here, I'm not happy with this either. But you have to help me get us out of this. Damn it all, we've been talking about it! I told you what I thought! What's been happening to you? Can't you see for yourself now what's going on here? Can't you _see_ that the captain is not himself?"

"I am sorry, Commander. I believe I am doing the right thing. I stand with the captain."

Riker stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply towards the forward stations. Ensign Maeno was looking fixedly at the carpet. Lavelle had swiveled his chair far enough to be able to see what was going on, but he would not meet the first officer's eyes. Riker turned back to encounter Worf's tense posture and stony expression, and raised his chin in his turn.

"I see. Very well. Are you confining me to quarters as well, sir?"

"I would prefer not to have to. But I must ask you to leave the bridge." Picard addressed the forward stations. "As well as anybody else who feels incapable of accepting the situation."

A slight movement behind their backs made them both turn. Macaulay had risen from her seat by one of the aft stations and come forward to stand beside Worf, head held high, a defiant look on her face. Picard braced himself.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"I beg to be excused, Captain." And without even waiting for an answer she turned and strode towards the turbolift. The captain saw a muscle twitching in Worf's jaw. Riker nodded briefly, then looked round.

"Maeno?" he said, quite gently.

Slowly, looking miserable, Maeno got to her feet, cast a sidelong glance in the direction of the captain and another at Riker, hesitated for a second, then scuttled up the ramp and slipped into the lift with Macaulay. Riker stood to attention for a moment with a formal "Captain," then he left in his turn, making for the turbolift. At the last possible moment Ruuk, the conn replacement, got up from his seat and darted after him. The doors hissed shut a second time, and this time there was the almost imperceptible sound of the lift moving away.

Picard looked round his strangely empty bridge, a dead quiet slowly taking over inside him. Here and there, a pair of eyes looked back. He reminded himself that they would be expecting orders from him.

"Lieutenant Clancy, take the conn. Mr. Worf, you are acting as my first officer. Ensign Westaway can stand in at Tactical. Please keep monitoring those probes, Mr. Lavelle, we don't need any more surprises right now. Let's notify the crew."

"I do not believe they will care, Captain."

"Well, at least we can try to warn anybody who's left. Give me a shipwide channel, Mr. Worf."

There was a moment's silence as Worf's fingers moved over the panels. The answer, when it came, was a growl of confirmed suspicion.

"I cannot restore communication, sir. The channel is blocked."

"Damn," breathed the captain. "Any chance that this is another computer failure?"

"A very slim chance, sir. I believe it is being effected from Engineering."

Picard nodded, a little surprised at his own lack of surprise.

"Mr. Worf, I would like a word with you. You have the bridge, Mr. Clancy."

**- - - - - -**


	13. Chapter 13

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 12**

He paused with his back to the door on entering the ready room, allowing himself to close his eyes for just a second or two. He could still feel that strangely unreal quiet, a feeling as if his voice and body were somehow functioning independently, with himself standing by, looking on. But it would not do for his crew (_what crew?_) to watch their captain come to pieces over this.

"Sir?" said Worf behind him, then added, for the second time that day: "Are you all right?"

It only added an element of déja vu to the sense of unreality. _This is no longer my crew_. And then:_You're on your own, Jean-Luc_.

_I'm not._ He turned. "Quite all right, Lieutenant. Sit down."

Worf cautiously lowered himself into one of the chairs – not the one Riker usually took, the captain noted as he circled his desk and sat down in his own seat. Somehow the chair seemed to be rather small for Worf.

"Very well", he said, calling the meeting to order. "Let's evaluate the situation, shall we. For the moment we are stuck here until our negotiator turns up. What happens afterwards is anyone's guess."

"Captain, we must find a way to deal with this... thing."

"Agreed. Any ideas on that, Mr. Worf?"

After a moment or two Worf shook his head, glumly.

"Neither have I. Is there anybody among your people you believe you can still trust?"

He saw Worf frowning as he was mentally running through his subordinates. "No, Captain. Not for certain. There is no sense of duty left in them. They seem to have given up everything in search of their _pleasure_." With the stress he put on the word, it sounded like an obscenity.

"It wasn't wholly their decision, Worf," the captain reminded him gently. "It seems they were made an offer that was... well, very hard to refuse."

"Then they are weak-minded fools to let it happen. And they are..."

Picard looked up expectantly. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming now. Some things just didn't change.

"... without honor," finished Worf, his voice a growl on the last word.

"We'll just have to make very sure we don't lose our minds in the same way, Lieutenant."

"I would never yield to such a dishonorable suggestion, Captain," Worf replied instantly. There was not a shadow of doubt in his voice. Picard found himself smiling – a very small smile.

"_A mind not to be changed by place or time_. I believed that of myself once, Mr. Worf. Until I was proven wrong."

He saw Worf looking at him curiously for a moment, apparently on the point of saying something in reply; then the Klingon straightened in his chair, eliciting a tiny clinking sound from his heavy metal sash, as if he had just come to some resolution or other. Picard knew better than to ask.

"Counselor Troi knows something of how the thing works," he said instead. "She may even know if there is someone aboard who is immune against it, although I am beginning to doubt there is. The whole thing doesn't look like a coincidence to me."

"No. It may well be a Cardassian plot. I have been considering the possibility."

"Another thing you didn't mention to me," Picard said. Then, seeing Worf look embarrassed all of a sudden, he went on without missing a beat: "However, we may be able to find out something about the device, and if there is anybody left on this ship who can think clearly. And that..." The captain broke off in midsentence. "Oh, no," he said softly.

"Sir?"

"Data. Data, of course. He'd be the one. And he's been missing for days – the computer keeps telling us he's not on this ship, something I've never believed... It seems the whole system must have been tampered with."

"Yes. La Forge. This... _this_ is why the internal sensors do not work!" For a moment, Worf was looking murderous.The captain frowned.

"Pardon me, Lieutenant? _What_ was that about the internal sensors?"

"I noticed a delay in computer responses just after we returned, Captain. And power consumption went up every time I used the internal sensors. I informed Commander La Forge. He told me he had repaired the damage. But the delay was still there. It was not something a Human would have noticed," he added for the captain's benefit.

"I'm afraid... that's to say, are you telling me that this power surge was indicative of some manipulation? That the computer has, in effect, been programmed to lie about Data's whereabouts?"

"That is what I believe, Captain," said Worf grimly.

"Geordi again, then," said the captain quietly, nodding as the pieces fell into place one by one. "So at least we know that Data is, in fact, on the ship and within reach of the sensors."

"We must make sure the sensors are restored, Captain."

"We can't. _I_ certainly can't, and neither, I believe, can you. We can't even determine what exactly has been done to the main computer. Data could, of course. And of course Geordi knows perfectly well where Data is."

Worf thought for a moment. "Of course", he said, and then he added: "I will find out."

"They must have deactivated him. I don't know why I didn't think of that earlier."

"You had other things on your mind, Captain."

"Yes, but it's such an obvious connection – " He paused. "Well, I suppose it's obvious _now_... There is another thing, Worf."

Worf inclined his head a little, inquiringly.

"Those probes. I don't know if this is a Cardassian plot, or what exactly is happening on this ship, but if the main computer has been manipulated, and the internal sensors reprogrammed, it's just possible – "

"I checked the external sensors!" Worf was on his feet before the captain had finished speaking. "I _checked_ those probes!"

"But at that time you didn't know what was going on, you might not have thought to look for – "

He didn't finish that sentence either. Instead, he rose quickly and came out from behind his desk, walking past Worf to the door. It swished open for him, revealing the bridge. He stopped at the sight, pausing in the door and silently taking it in.

The bridge was empty. The center seats, the forward stations, Tactical were deserted. The faint, eerie greenish glitter on the viewscreen dominated the place, the only moving thing within sight. The silence was uncanny. Once again, he wondered a little at his own calm – a calm tinged, incredibly, with appreciation, with a faint sense of amusement.

"Well," he said after a moment, "that seems to answer one question at least."

There was no reply. After a couple of seconds he looked round – to see Worf scanning the bridge with narrowed eyes, his expression a mixture of blank incredulity and outrage, the muscles in his jaw working.

"It's all right, Lieutenant, we're hardly worse off than before."

Worf slowly shook his head, muttering something under his breath, some Klingon expression the captain couldn't quite catch. _Probably just as well_, he found himself thinking, very much aware of the adrenaline coursing through him and the sudden feeling of exhilaration. The situation was impossible – beyond his experience, beyond even his imagination. Desperation might come later, but for now he was aware only of the challenge – and of his own reactions to it.

"Very well," he said. "Let's see if the systems are still operational."

By the time he had checked Ops and Conn, Worf had finished with the aft stations. "Everything still online, sir."

"Thank you. We'll have to get some information next. The probes, the device, Data..." Without even being aware of it, he had settled into the command chair as he spoke. Worf leaned over the railing, waiting quietly. Picard thought.

It was all a little vague now (he _had_ allowed himself to be distracted, hadn't he?), but he was quite sure that Will had told him of Data's sudden disappearance the morning after they had returned from Mavvion. Geordi had been wearing the device then. So had Deanna. Will hadn't. Somebody – Geordi, most probably – must have realized that Data would present an insurmountable obstacle to going in search of whatever it was the device was promising him. _And somehow I doubt that he himself knows what that might be_.

Evidently nobody had expected _him_ to prove an obstacle at first. He remembered speaking with Troi that second evening. Her warmth and concern had been genuine, he felt quite sure of that. But so had her firm belief in the device – to the point where she wasn't even considering his misgivings any longer.

And her manner of speaking with him. He had noticed it only marginally then, but it all seemed to fall into place now. That uncharacteristic assurance, the way she pronounced on his feelings – misreading them, as it happened, an unprecedented mistake. Under normal circumstances when she was not entirely sure of her findings she would invariably say so. And there had been none of that _What do _you_ think?_ that had almost driven him to distraction occasionally, that care to tread gently when she had to put her own assessment into words or, worse, do some deliberate probing into his emotions, knowing full well that his was a mind that instinctively put up every defence it had.

For all that, and for all that had happened between them, he was sure she wished him well. And as a professional if not as an empath, she might even have kept part of her reason together. _Both of which is more than can be said of some of the others at this point_. _Very well..._

He rose. "Mr. Worf," he said, striding up the ramp as he spoke, "as long as we have to make do without Data Counselor Troi is still our best hope of finding out more about the device. We should also try to get our hands on one of the things."

Worf nodded briefly. "I will procure one from her."

"No, you won't. I don't want her intimidated; she'll be in a bad enough state as it is."

"I am not going to _intimidate_ her, Captain," growled Worf, bristling. Picard tried to suppress a smile.

"But I think you might, Lieutenant, without even trying. Certainly in your present mood. No, I want you to go down to Engineering and try to get some sense into or out of Commander La Forge, regarding both Data and those probes. You are acting first officer. You have my permission to pull rank if it helps."

"You will remain here, Captain?" Worf asked suspiciously.

"No, I am going to do the same with regard to Counselor Troi."

"You cannot. It is too dangerous," Worf replied instantly, actually shifting a little on his feet as if he would have liked to block his way.

_Oh, God_, thought Picard, touched and exasperated and amused in almost equal proportions. He should have known what the combined offices of security chief and first officer in the person of Worf would lead to.

"Mr. Worf, we have a lot of work to do, and we don't have much time to do it. What could possibly happen to me between here and Counselor Troi's quarters? Besides, I am quite capable of looking after myself."

"Captain, that – " Worf began, then stopped. There was something to be said for the captain's point, after all. Still –

"You must not go unarmed."

"But I can't walk around my own ship with a sidearm. It would be inviting trouble. If people really feel threatened by me – and considering that I have a reputation for paranoia already..."

"I would prefer to accompany you, sir."

"Same objections, Mr. Worf. We'll meet up here once we have finished."

Worf frowned, and Picard had a feeling that he was rapidly running through whatever points he might still have in store. In the end, however, he merely said: "We must secure the bridge, Captain."

"Yes, I suppose so." He sighed. "Computer, restrict access to the bridge to myself and acting first officer Lieutenant Worf."

"Access restricted as specified," replied the computer.

"We had better hurry. That Cardassian negotiator – " He felt a chill pass through him at the thought of the possible developments. "Very well, let's go. That's to say – "

He paused and turned, already halfway to the turbolift, and tried again – just to make sure.

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Commander Data."

"Lieutenant Commander Data is not on the ship."

"Nonsense," said the captain, giving his uniform tunic a brisk tug. "Come on, Mr. Worf."

**- - - - - -**

Main Engineering was fairly quiet when Worf entered, but he had not expected anything else. With the ship sitting in the nebula, there wasn't much work to do. Usually Geordi would make the most of opportunities like this – checking, readjusting, experimenting – , but under Yellow Alert conditions there was little room to play with the equipment. Geordi was there, one hip planted on the central control table, chatting animatedly with a young Andorian woman in a science uniform. For a moment or two Worf considered taking exception to the presence of a crew member who clearly had no business here; then he decided against it. He had more important things to attend to.

"Now that's a surprise," said Geordi as he saw him, getting to his feet. "It's all right, Ml'vur, I'll get back to you. What can I do for you, Worf?"

"The captain wants to know what happened to Data", Worf replied succinctly.

There was a pause. "Wait a moment," Geordi said then, and there was a note of incredulous hilarity in his voice. "He's sent you down here to ask me _that_? Worf, he's been asking me the same thing about three times a day ever since he came back from that diplomatic mission, and I'm beginning to hear it in my sleep! Now you may not be aware – "

"I _am_ aware," Worf broke in. "You, however, may not be aware that the captain believes you to be responsible for Data's disappearance. He wishes to know what you did with him."

"That's a joke," said Geordi.

Into the slightly charged silence that followed the remark, Worf said heavily: "We believe Data to be somewhere on the ship, deactivated. We are going to find him with or without your help. It would make things easier if you were to be of some assistance. It might also make up for some of your actions so far," he added, hoping Geordi would fill in the implications for himself. He didn't even know for sure whether or not Geordi had committed any actions that needed redeeming. The chief engineer tilted his head.

"Tell you what, Worf. I had a feeling the captain was getting rather caught up in those ideas of his, but I shouldn't have thought _you_ quite so susceptible. Now I _could_ take offense at this – I'd be perfectly entitled to. Data's my best friend, remember? I suggest we leave it at that, okay?"

"No," replied Worf. "The ship is in danger. We need Data. I will not accept any excuses this time. There is another thing," he added, raising his voice a little and cutting short whatever it was Geordi had been starting to say. "I must know if the probes we have placed to warn us of approaching ships have been tampered with. They report no ships in the vicinity. This may be true. If it is not we must replace them instantly."

"Well, who d'you think you're talking to?" exploded Geordi. "I, rigging a faulty probe so my ship can be taken over by the damn Cardies? _I _wasn't the one who got us into this mess, remember? If you're looking for someone to blame now I'd suggest – "

"Stop!" thundered Worf, cutting him short once again. He had a feeling that he knew what would have come next, and he had no wish whatsoever to deal with a case of blatant insubordination right now – he had other things to do. Geordi did stop, possibly simply out of surprise at the sheer volume of the demand. In fact every head in Engineering had snapped round.

"Right, okay. Look, Worf, I _know_ you've a thing about security and all that. It's your job, and if you want to go along with the captain's fancies that's all right with me. But what you mean by it, coming down here and ordering me around – "

Worf pulled himself up a little. "You may also know that Commander Riker has been relieved of duty. I am acting first officer."

"Oh," said Geordi. "I hadn't been informed of that."

"You are now."

"Sorry, Worf, that's just not good enough. No offense meant, but you could be telling me anything here. Anyway, for the moment, whatever you are on the bridge, down here I'll thank you for remembering that I outrank you, Worf. And what you've just said – I _might_ just take that from the captain, but from nobody else."

Worf stared at him for a moment, then he hit his communicator.

"That can be arranged. Worf to captain."

There was no reply.

"Worf to Captain Picard. Come in, sir."

Nothing.

All of a sudden, Worf had the feeling that everybody within hearing was listening intently to the exchange. He turned quickly, and there was Barclay studying a padd and some female pretending to work the keys on a console and the Zaldan, Szegi, bending over the central control table, not even bothering to hide his intense interest in what was going on. He turned back, too quickly for Geordi to wipe the last trace of amusement from his face, and at least had the satisfaction of seeing that expression vanish very suddenly as the chief engineer looked up into his face.

"Communications is down, Mr. La Forge."

"Oh, shit. I'll have my people look into it straight away."

There was a moment's silence. Worf drew himself up a little, his eyes narrowing, slowly, to black slits, and Geordi took half a step back and opened his mouth as if to say something preventive. For a second or two something seemed on the brink of snapping. Then, quite suddenly, Worf's posture relaxed. With a muttered curse that to Geordi sounded more like a snarl than anything else he turned on his heel and strode towards the turbolift.

_Damn_ La Forge, he thought. He would have been delighted to resolve the issue then and there. He was fully aware that this would have included having it out with the best part of Engineering, and not wholly oblivious to the fact that a good fight would be immensely welcome just now, that something in him positively yearned for one – had been yearning for days now. But he was Chief of Security – yes, and acting first officer too – and his priorities were elsewhere. Communications was down. He couldn't contact the captain.

_I must find him immediately_, he thought.

**- - - - - -**


	14. Chapter 14

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 13**

The captain had reached Deanna Troi's quarters without encountering any obstruction, although he did notice a rather suspicious look from two crewmen who happened to be passing along the corridor when he pressed the door alarm.

"Come in," she called.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was not what he saw. The lighting was dimmed, and there was a sweet scent in the air, some exotic flowery fragrance that would probably make his head swim if he remained here for any length of time. An array of candles on the table created a pool of warm light. Deanna was sitting on the sofa in a loosely flowing lavender robe, elbows on her knees, staring dreamily into the flames.

He had only a moment to take in the surroundings, for she looked up when the door swished shut behind him, and as soon as she recognized him she started up with a cry of alarm, groping for something in the shadows; a moment later he found himself looking at a phaser she was pointing steadily in his direction.

"Don't come any closer, sir. I can see you well enough from here."

He was too startled to feel seriously worried, even though he was in no doubt that she meant it.

"You'll not use that thing on me."

"Not unless you force me to, Captain."

"_I_ force you – !" He collected himself. "Deanna, I mean you no harm. Certainly you must be able to sense that? I haven't come to threaten you. I need your help. I won't come any closer. Just listen to me."

"Very well," she said after a moment. "I believe you. What is it you want my help for?"

_Just as well I didn't bring that sidearm_, he thought. _By now, I'd be unconscious on the floor – at least I hope hers is set to stun..._

"I have to find out more about the device. This crew is breaking up, you know that. I'm powerless to keep people from using it, but perhaps I can still find a handle – some way to reach them..."

It was less than the truth, but it wasn't entirely untrue either. Considering that she evidently hadn't known it was he outside her door, he might just get away with it. She was looking at him thoughtfully now, thoughtfully and quite composedly, the hand with the phaser hanging at her side.

"You're keeping a lot to yourself," she said finally.

"Can you blame me for that? You haven't been honest with me either. You must have known there would be difficulties if this thing spread – that it would prove incompatible with the discipline on this ship."

"I didn't! At least... Captain, you don't understand. I've tried to explain - this isn't about discipline and control. It's about something far beyond that. You were opposed to it from the beginning. You wouldn't even consider finding out about it yourself."

"But I'm here now," he said, very gently.

"Because you have no options left. And you still don't believe a word of it."

"Deanna, please!" He was pleading now. "You want to convince me. Well, you know there is only one way to do this. You must allow me to verify what you've been telling me before I commit myself. You have known me long enough. Before this – have I ever dismissed anything you said?"

"No," she said, smiling a little. "You haven't until now. You always listen – although you sometimes take some convincing."

"Granted." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and her smile widened.

"I'm sorry. Please, sit down, Captain. I shouldn't have doubted you. Some things in this universe remain stable." She set the example by disposing herself on the sofa again and looking up at him expectantly. He lowered himself into a chair. "Well," she said, "what is it you want to know?"

"I am somewhat worried about the timing of this. This is a very delicate mission, possibly a trap or a set-up. We have been told in so many words that there are several parties involved, and that at least one of them has an interest in seeing it fail - whatever the reason. The device certainly doesn't help to ensure our success. Now I'm wondering – "

"If the device could have been introduced to this ship with that purpose in mind? You mean by the Cardassians?"

"Not necessarily by the Cardassians. We know so little about the background of it all. We don't know who else may be involved. Then again, it may have nothing to do with this mission and still be an act of sabotage."

She appeared to be considering this – quite seriously, by all appearances. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief at having come this far. _In fact_, he found himself thinking with wry appreciation, _this is one of the more rational discussions I've had lately_...

"I don't think so," she said at last. "Maruk is a scientist, an authority in his field. There is no way anybody could have impersonated this man to me, Captain. He was what he said he was. And I sensed no deception or malice from him."

"He could have been acting with the best of intentions."

"But even then he would have had to be instructed to introduce the device to this ship. And there are very few who even know about it."

"I find that hard to believe. This thing has been spreading like wildfire among the crew. It would do the same in any other group of people. I'd like to know why this man hasn't been leaving a trail of chaos before he ever set foot on my ship. And – "

"Captain, all he's done was try and _help_!" she protested, shocked and on the verge of anger.

"Deanna, listen," he said, carefully, for the words didn't come easily. "You said my... recent experiences... have been influencing me more than they should. Now consider this. Whatever the thing might have done for me, do you think giving up my control, such as it is, in favor of a closer rapport with my subconscious would have helped this particular mission along?"

She frowned. "No," she said after a moment. "I don't."

"Add to this a crew that is by now very definitely _out_ of control, and for the most part thoroughly hostile towards the Cardassians..."

She was silent for a moment or two. "Very well. I still don't believe this to be an act of sabotage, Captain, but I see your point. And since this mission is so important to you – "

She reached out for the terminal that was sitting on a small table to one side, swiveling it towards herself.

"Computer, display ID file of Doctor Maruk."

There was a brief chirp. From where he was sitting Picard could not see the screen, but he could see Troi frowning.

"It's very little beyond what I know already. Computer, what was Doctor Maruk's last assignment?"

"Doctor Maruk has been holding a lectureship at the Vulcan Science Academy for the past four years, starting Stardate..."

"Stop! Is there any information about recent results in psychosomatics... or stress-relief techniques... or even concerning the Flow phenomen?"

"There is no information regarding any of these issues," the computer replied crisply.

"That's odd," she murmured. "There should be. He was so excited about it... But we could ask for information about the Fragan VI summit," she said suddenly. "He may have talked about the device there – perhaps given it to somebody..."

Picard shook his head. "We aren't allowed to use subspace communication right now, Deanna. And while we're sitting in this nebula we couldn't do it anyway."

"Of course. I forgot." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Captain. With everything that's been happening... I really don't feel quite myself. You can testify to that", she added, sounding concerned all of a sudden. "In fact some of the things I said must have been... quite unforgivable. Sir, if – "

"It is all right," he interposed quickly. "Don't worry about it. You must be very tired."

"I am," she admitted. "All those minds – floating free. I can feel the restrictions breaking down. Not in you, of course", she added, almost merrily. "To be honest, Captain, your company is quite restful. It will get better when they find their feet, but right now it's sheer chaos. Bewilderment, clashing desires – " She broke off rather abruptly, looking at him wide-eyed. "You are frightened, sir."

"Of course I am," he whispered.

"Frightened for your ship and your crew. Captain, _you_ are still the same. I hope..." She hesitated, and for a few moments seemed to waver on the brink of something. "I never wanted to hurt you," she said finally. "Or to... to take anything from you. You have felt sometimes that this ship should serve a better purpose than ferrying diplomats to conferences or transporting samples, haven't you? In fact I know you have. And there _is_ something worthier of the _Enterprise_. Something... appropriate. You'll see."

"Will you tell me what?"

"I can't. I wish I could. But you might... You would not understand, sir. You wouldn't like it – not at this time. Geordi will – I'll explain it to him. We'll take good care of your ship, sir, I promise you that."

"Are you quite sure Geordi will go along with your idea?"

"I'll have to talk to him," she replied with a smile. "But yes, Captain, I'm quite sure he will."

_Yes_, thought Picard. _Communication is very definitely down on this ship_. Aloud he said: "Deanna, do you realize that Geordi may well have eliminated Data in order to get this far?"

She gave him a startled look. "No," she said then, decidedly. "He wouldn't harm his best friend. Try to understand, Captain – the device doesn't make you act against your nature. It just helps you recognize your goals."

"Which you then pursue – with considerable ruthlessness," he said softly, and saw her bite her lip for a moment. "Do you know if there is anybody on this ship who might be immune to its effects, apart from Data?"

"I don't think so. Captain, I... I truly can't imagine Geordi would do such a thing. And I would never sanction it, you must believe me there."

"I do believe you. You convinced Will of the merits of the thing too, didn't you?"

"I convinced him to give it a try, Captain," she corrected gently. "He came to me last night over something... something he wanted to discuss. He asked for an explanation. That's all."

"Yes, I think I understand." He got to his feet. "Deanna, I must be going. Just – when you talk to Geordi, try to... try not to alienate him. He may be taken up with some scheme of his own for all I know. He might take it the wrong way."

"You do care, don't you? I wish I could make you understand. But you will, sir, in time. For now – "

She rose, came round the table and walked up to him, and he realized with a slight unpleasant start that the material of that lavender robe was hardly more than a rippling, silky gauze, opaque enough at first glance but startlingly transparent against the light when she passed in front of the candles. Picard stood his ground, but when she stopped right in front of him to look up into his face, putting both hands against his chest, it was all he could do not to flinch. He wondered, fleetingly, if she was aware of his unease – she certainly gave no sign of it.

"Take care of yourself, Captain. Energies like these, released after a long time, can be very strong, sometimes even violent. I wouldn't want you to come to any harm."

"I'll try," he promised, gently removing her hands. "I think I'll better go now. Thank you for your help."

"You're quite welcome," she said softly. There was a throbbing behind his temples now. He wanted very much to be out of that flickering candlelight and her presence, but he managed still to be gentle as he released her fingers and turned away. In the dim light he noticed something on a small table by the door. He paused, remembering something through the slight daze that seemed to have descended on him.

"May I take this?"

She gave him an amused look. "Are you still trying to disabuse me? I have more, you know. And you have no intention of even trying it out."

"No," he admitted. "But I would like to take a look at it."

"You are very welcome to that too, sir."

"Thank you", he said and left.

Outside, with the door softly hissing shut behind him, he drew a few deep breaths. The air smelled bracingly fresh and cool after the scent-laden warmth of her quarters. The throbbing seemed to be subsiding a little.

_I should be grateful for small favors. If I had been given some of those answers yesterday, or even a few hours ago, I don't know what I would have done... _

Abruptly, he became aware of a presence. Turning, he saw Ensign Sam Lavelle who had appeared round a corner and stopped, looking at him with an odd mixture of resentment, embarrassment and fear in his face. When their eyes met he hesitated for a moment, his hand involuntarily going to his right temple; then he dropped it and took a step forward.

"Sir. I was just on my way to Counselor Troi. To... to ask if there was anything I could do for her."

"I see," said Picard. "Is that all the explanation you'll give for leaving your post of duty?"

"I... I..." began Lavelle, clearly taken aback. "Sir, at this time I didn't think... I mean, there are things you have to do, no matter..." He frowned, and then he raised his chin in a gesture that for a fleeting moment reminded Picard of Riker. The next step forward placed him squarely in the captain's path. "Things a man must do, Captain, even if it means getting in the way of a senior officer."

"Your point, Mr. Lavelle."

"Sir, Counselor Troi's safety and comfort are very important to me. I cannot allow her to be upset."

"Indeed," said Picard.

"With all due respect, sir, I must ask you to stop harassing her. She's not to blame if you don't like what's going on. And – " he swallowed visibly – "I'm quite prepared to make sure she's left alone if I have to."

_I can't believe this_, Picard found himself thinking. _Do I tell that young fool that he's said quite enough to end his career if I choose to take that... that _codswallop_ seriously?_

"I'll thank you for getting out of my way, Ensign," he replied icily. Lavelle's mouth hardened. For a second or two he stood his ground, making a valiant effort to meet the captain's eyes; Picard even saw his hands clenching at his sides. Then he bit his lip and looked away.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you," said Picard, pointedly, as he walked past him towards the turbolift. A little to his own surprise, he found that he was breathing rather quickly. _Was that just absurd, or could it have turned truly ugly?_

He could feel Lavelle staring after him, quite possibly thinking the same thing.

**- - - - - -**

"Bridge!" Lieutenant Worf told the turbolift before he was even inside.

"Access to the bridge has been restricted to Captain Picard and acting first officer Lieutenant Worf," replied the computer.

For a moment, Worf was struck speechless. The first response that came to mind was _Your point?_; the second was to get out and head for the nearest maintenance shaft at a run. _Damn_ all that malfunctioning equipment. He had a job to do – now. But there were thirty-five decks between him and the bridge.

"Computer," he said with forced calm, "recognize Worf, Lieutenant, acting first officer, USS _Enterprise_."

There was a chirrup, then a brief chitter that made him set his teeth. But after an unnerving second, the computer said: "Acknowledged." The lift began to move, much too slowly to his mind – or was he imagining it?

_At ease, Lieutenant_. It had worked before, but it wasn't working very well now. He should not have let him out of his sight. Whatever happened, whatever ideas other people might have, the captain's safety was his first responsibility. He could be in danger now – why would they try to cut communication between them? He gave his communicator an angry tap. "Worf to captain."

Still nothing.

"Computer, locate Captain Picard."

Klingon curses came unbidden to his mindat the inevitable delay. Then the computer said: "Captain Picard is on Deck nine."

"Sector?"

"Sector nine."

_Counselor's quarters_. Worf nodded to himself, somewhat relieved. "Correction. Deck seven," he instructed the turbolift. "Forward section."

When the door opened upon deck seven, forward section, Worf almost bumped into Lieutenant Enrico Benedetto who had been waiting for the lift in the corridor. Benedetto started back on recognizing him but recovered immediately, squaring his shoulders and giving way with a defiant glare as the Klingon strode past him. Worf contented himself with one long look, but he made a mental note to keep an eye on the man. _Possibly a fool, but he is no coward_. A few steps down the corridor he realized that Benedetto's alarm on seeing him had been no exception. A woman in a science uniform stared at him, wide-eyed, others avoided meeting his eyes; one ensign quickly covered the device he wore with one hand and gave him a wide berth. He ignored them, going straight to his own quarters and entering. Alexander was nowhere to be seen, although an empty glass and plate, and a few padds scattered on the table, indicated that he had been in after school. Worf picked up a padd, checked its contents routinely (a home assignment on some Vulcan myth, done with spirit if somewhat erratically spelled), and added a note at the bottom, telling Alexander that he would be very busy for the next day or two. _You may therefore extend your stay with Pjotr's family if you behave yourself. I shall check on you later_. He then stacked the padds into a neat pile, with the message on top and the glass and plate conspicuously nearby, took another look round the room, frowned, hesitated for a moment, and left.

It was just possible that Dimitri Chelnikov had had the sense to keep his family, and Alexander, away from the damn thing.

"Deck nine", Worf said to the turbolift.

**- - - - - -**


	15. Chapter 15

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 14**

The encounter with Lieutenant Benedetto had warned Worf that he might meet with open hostility at some stage, and he left the turbolift with a certain amount of caution. The corridors of Deck nine were very quiet. Once a door hissed shut somewhere to his right just as he was walking past an intersection, and he started and frowned in irritation. But he hadn't gone far when he heard steps approaching. He was drawing near to another corner, and somebody was coming from the other side, quickly. Reflex took over, and he had snapped into a battle crouch before realizing how very well he knew that particular footfall, just as the other man appeared round the corner.

"Captain!"

"It's quite all right, Worf. I'm unarmed."

Worf straightened, giving Picard a reproachful look. "Sir, I was concerned about your safety. I tried to contact you, but the communicator did not work."

"The link to the bridge is dead as well. Geordi's doing, I suppose. Any success?"

"Not much, sir. The Engineering crew appears to side with Commander La Forge. Naturally, he denies any knowledge of Commander Data. He grew angry when I asked him about the probes, though, and denied having tampered with them. I assume he was speaking the truth in this, and they are working correctly." He frowned, only now realizing that he had abandoned his quest for information about Data the moment communication had been lost. Fortunately Picard didn't ask any further.

"Well, that's _something_ to be grateful for. I haven't been much luckier myself. I can't trace this Doctor Maruk. Counselor Troi doesn't believe he would have caused damage deliberately, but – "

Worf gave a sound between a soft snarl and a snort, and Picard nodded. "I agree. There's another thing. By now I seem to be attracting some unfriendly attention here. What about you?"

Worf was about to answer when a babble of voices arose from the far end of the corridor.

"I think we had better make ourselves scarce, Lieutenant," Picard said quickly. "Come on."

Worf half-expected further problems with the computer, but apart from asking for their clearance as it should the turbolift deposited them on the bridge without more ado. It didn't make him feel any more comfortable. In fact he remarked, the moment the doors were hissing shut behind them: "Sir, I believe there are difficulties ahead. Just now, the turbolift did not immediately recognize my voice print."

Picard frowned, taking it in while checking the readings from the probes on Worf's console.

"By now I wonder how much of this is sabotage and how much is malfunctions as a result of it. _This_ seems to be working. Let's decide our next step, shall we."

"Not here, sir," Worf replied firmly.

"Worf, I really – " The captain interrupted himself with a sharp sigh. "Very well. The intercom _is_ damaged. It can't do any harm to be cautious."

In the shielded security of his ready room he slid into his chair and leaned back with some relief. Worf fidgeted, then he anticipated his request by sitting down himself. He looked so uncomfortable that Picard was tempted to tell him to get up again if it suited him, but as that would have made his Chief of Security even more uncomfortable he held his peace.

"Well," he said. "Conference. No ships in the vicinity yet. If those probes are performing as they should we have at least seven hours' warning of any advancing ship, and we should have about sixteen hours left before they start to break down – possibly more, but we can't depend on that. We must find either Data or a means to neutralize that device, and since we don't know what we are dealing with, finding Data looks like the better option. He's our best chance of counteracting that thing anyway."

Worf nodded once.

"We're proceeding on the assumption that Data is on the ship, and that the internal sensors have been manipulated so they don't pick him up, but obviously we can't search the _Enterprise_ between us." He looked at Worf, expectantly. "Suggestions, Lieutenant?"

"We can eliminate certain places," said Worf, promptly getting up from his seat as if speaking while sitting down was too much to ask of him. "All lived-in spaces. All places Commander La Forge could only access with the help of others. At the same time he must make sure that it is a place seldom visited. He could not trust others to keep silent about this."

"Especially as he seems to have been one of the first to fall under the spell of that thing. He must have been acting almost single-handedly," Picard said thoughtfully.

"A place he himself can visit without attracting attention," concluded Worf. "A cargobay?"

"They must have been searched very thoroughly. Commander Riker told me he had been over the ship with a fine comb, and he had no cause for lying to me then. I somehow don't think so."

"A tube or maintenance shaft?" Worf said, doubtfully.

"I hope not," Picard sighed. "Anyway, there's always the danger of someone coming that way in the course of their work. Places where nobody ever goes would be a more likely choice. But they, too, would have been included in a thorough search."

"Even a _thorough_ search would not include very small spaces. La Forge could have disassembled Data to a degree. It would make concealment easier."

The captain closed his eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said quietly.

Worf frowned. "Sir – ?"

"Nothing," said Picard, opening his eyes. "It's just that of all the ghastly possibilities... Never mind. It _is_ a possibility. For the moment I prefer to think that Geordi is still Geordi, and that he won't risk serious harm to Data if he can help it. That's what Counselor Troi thinks, too, and in this I actually agree with her... And there's another thing. He's an engineer, and he's sabotaging this ship. Wouldn't he choose a location he has some control over? Something that's safe from other people intent on damage? What would Geordi think of first?"

Worf's eyes narrowed. "I would have said the battle bridge, Captain, if it were not for the possibility that it will be needed soon in our defense."

_That's what_ you _would think of first_, thought the captain. _Geordi, however_...

"The escape pods," Worf went on. "Facilities like the emergency transporter rooms. Engineering stores..." He interrupted himself again when he saw Picard pressing his fingers to his temples. "Sir, if..."

"No, no!" the captain interrupted. "Go on. I'm listening. It's just that I still feel we are missing something. I almost had it just now, but – " He looked up, a little ruefully. "Go on."

"Airlocks, possibly," Worf said, sounding as if he was running out of ideas. "They are not usually needed, and some might regard them not as parts of the ship proper. Thus the search parties – " He stopped once more. "Captain, you truly are not well."

"But I am." Picard opened his eyes again; somewhat to Worf's surprise there was an amused gleam in them. "I'm very well. Worf, that's it – it _isn_'t part of the ship proper. I've just remembered – something that came up when I discussed some details of the Fragan VI summit with Geordi. Originally I was supposed to escort the more important of those delegates myself, and it was just mentioned and discarded in half a sentence. We never wasted another thought on it. But Geordi may well have remembered it afterwards. In fact I have a hunch that he has." The captain looked up into Worf's face, a positively impish smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "The _Calypso_, Lieutenant."

"Sir?" said Worf, rummaging in his memory for whatever vessels the _Enterprise_ might have had contact with during their absence on Mavvion.

"The captain's yacht," Picard explained.

Worf knew there was such a craft, but he never thought about it, let alone saw it used. The purpose it was supposed to serve – diplomatic representation at its most ostentatious – was anathema to the captain, who generally preferred getting down to work as quickly as possible. The elegant little vessel was thus largely forgotten in its own docking port on the underside of the saucer section; certainly no routine search would include it.

"I'm not even sure the internal sensors could pick up anything inside it if they did work. And then Geordi did all he could to keep me from thinking about parts of the ship we hadn't been over yet – "

Worf frowned. "This is a far shot. You might still be wrong, Captain."

"Of course I may be wrong. I think it's the way Geordi thinks, that's all." And then twenty years in diplomacy did teach you to take note of half-finished asides, of course. But Worf was looking unconvinced; clearly, he was far from happy with the idea.

"But you said it was only a hunch."

"Come, Mr. Worf," Picard said pleasantly. "If I had called it warrior's instinct you wouldn't have any objections."

Worf frowned again, trying to think of a convincing answer to that and failing dismally. For a moment, another thought intruded. There had been a time when he would have found it impossible to come to any sort of terms with the captain's referring to himself, however obliquely, as a warrior. That time was past – well past. Although where the captain was concerned fighting – in fact any potentially dangerous situation – was still very much his, Worf's, business. It took him straight to his next question.

"You will remain here, Captain?"

Picard considered. "No," he said at last. "With no communications and no way of knowing what we'll find on the way I believe we should stay together. If the worst comes to the worst and we have to warn our negotiator off we may even be able to use the _Calypso_." He rose and tugged his tunic down. "In fact, is there any way you can feed the readings from those probes down to the _Calypso_'s stations?"

"There may be, Captain, but I would not attempt it. It might attract attention."

"True." He looked at Worf for a long moment. "So we're blind from the moment we leave the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

Picard nodded, pulled his tunic down again – front, back – and headed out onto the bridge.

"We can still take _some_ precautions. Remove our communictors, for example, seeing that they don't work for us anyway... Computer, recognize Picard, Jean-Luc, Captain, alpha two clearance."

It cheeped. "Priority clearance recognition alpha two acknowledged," replied the voice readily.

"Transfer all command functions to me personally. Accept related orders and inquiries from me only."

"Transfer complete," said the computer after a moment.

"Just how far can we rely on that, at this stage?"

"I do not know, Captain. You would have to try them out, one by one."

"No time for that." Picard took another look at the readings on the Tactical console. "Still seven hours. Come on, Lieutenant."

"Deck sixteen," said the captain on entering the turbolift. It began to move without delay, and Worf frowned.

"Sir, if Data was in the _Calypso_ I would expect attempts to prevent us from going there. But the lift does not seem – "

At that moment the lift was beginning to slow down.

"So would I," Picard agreed rather dryly. "Computer, what's the matter?"

"Access to Decks fourteen, fifteen and sixteen is restricted due to maintenance work in progress," the computer replied just as the lift was coming to a dead stop.

"Override," Picard said hopefully.

"Unable to comply. Railing has been partly dismantled."

"It has not," said Worf emphatically. "They could not have done that unnoticed."

"Well, I agree, but that doesn't help us. Apparently we are halfway between Decks thirteen and fourteen." He raised his voice a little. "Computer, Deck thirteen."

There was no reaction whatsoever. Unsurprised, Picard looked up, thoughtfully scanning the hatch in the turbolift ceiling.

"I've been thinking before that they could have made those hatches a little more accessible."

"You can easily reach it if I lift you, sir," Worf said, following his gaze.

"Well, yes. I think it'll be a better idea if I give you a leg-up and _you_ open the hatch and climb out."

Worf frowned. "Why?"

"Because, Mr. Worf, I can hold you up for a few moments, but I'm afraid I couldn't haul you through that hatch. You, on the other hand..."

Worf's frown deepened. The thought had already occurred to him as well, in fact, but for all its logic it felt vaguely inappropriate. Still, it wasn't something he would tell the captain.

"Yes, sir," he said.

**- - - - - - -**

"Damn," said Geordi La Forge, letting his hands fall back onto the console with a thud.

"What's the matter, Geordi?" Barclay asked, ambling over.

"The computer's accepted his override. I thought I had made sure it wouldn't."

"We'll get to the bridge somehow and sort it out – cut our way through if necessary. It'll just take more time, that's all."

"No help there, Reg. He's transferred the command functions to himself. My fault, really – I just didn't think of that one. Given the time I could reprogram the bridge systems all right, but somehow I don't think you could reprogram that man."

"Well," said Lieutenant Barclay, "it's such a shame we don't have Data with us right now."

Geordi threw him an annoyed look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing!" protested Barclay. "N-nothing at all. Just – er – thinking."

"Computer," Geordi said sharply, "locate Captain Picard."

There was a delay – quite a noticeable one. Then the computer said: "Captain Picard is on the bridge."

"He isn't, damn it. He's anywhere _but_. What's the point of transferring command functions to himself else? Computer, locate Lieutenant Worf."

Pause. "Lieutenant Worf is on the bridge."

"Shit," Geordi said clearly. Without turning, he could feel Barclay's delighted grin in his back.

**- - - - - - -**

"Well – !" The captain looked round in the empty corridor on Deck thirteen they had reached by way of the turboshaft ladder while Worf was trying to shut the door manually.

"It will not close, sir," he said after a moment. "Should I remove the panel and – "

"No, leave it. Sooner or later Geordi will find out what we're doing anyway, and then there'll be trouble. We don't have too much time. I think our best hope of getting to the _Calypso_ lies this way."

Worf promptly abandoned the door and took up a position half a step ahead of him, suspiciously scanning the doorways on both sides. The corridor was curiously silent. _I do hope I'm right and this isn't a wild-goose chase_, Picard found himself thinking, suddenly less than certain that his instincts had been right. _I have a feeling there's trouble ahead_ –

"Here, sir. Maintenance shaft fifteen-A." Worf was already opening the access hatch; then, after a suspicious glance back over his shoulder, he put his head in for a look up and down. "There _appears_ to be nobody there."

_This is all much too simple_, Picard thought, and then: _Now you _are_ being paranoid. Geordi can't possibly control all of this all the time, and he can't have told many others. Get on with it._

As if on cue, Worf said: "This may still be a trap, Captain," while already climbing into the opening. With an inward sigh Picard followed, briefly acknowledging to himself how tired he was, and how very unreal all of this was feeling, and wondering for a fleeting moment if he was about to wake up with a start and find himself back in his quarters at some point much earlier in the proceedings. _It wouldn't surprise me in the least_. He hadn't been sleeping too well during the last few nights.

The uncanny quiet held for the next three decks, the only sounds being those of their boots on the clamps, and the echoes travelling up and down the shaft. By the time they reached the bottom Picard was forcefully reminding himself that this was a part of the ship that was fairly quiet at the best of times. Worf listened for a few seconds, his ear almost touching the hatch, and then pushed the panel outwards.

A few steps down the corridor brought them to a door leading to the airlock, and the _Calypso_'s docking port, and still there was no obstacle, no challenge, not a sound. Worf was frowning again, and on reaching the door he asked: "Captain, are you certain of this?"

"No," Picard replied a little grimly. A moment later he realized that the door wasn't opening even though he had tapped the appropriate keys on its panel. The wave of relief washing over him almost made him smile. _This is ridiculous_. But the look Worf threw him was just as relieved.

"Computer, why doesn't this door open?"

"Opening mechanism has been deactivated," replied the computer.

"Override."

"Unable to comply." And then there was a shrill chittering sound which he had never heard before but which made Worf grind his teeth rather audibly. Picard gave his Chief of Security a questioning look.

"Step back, Captain," said Worf, producing a small Type-I phaser from somewhere beneath his sash. Picard's eyebrows rose; he knew perfectly well that the phaser was there, but usually a polite fiction of its nonexistence was kept up. Worf adjusted the setting, took aim and fired.

Burning through the heavy door took its time, and Picard was uncomfortably aware of the passing seconds, and of his own nerves, as he stood looking up and down the corridor while the smell of burning duranium grew stronger. _They can't possibly be unaware in Engineering of what's going on here, or can they_?

The hiss of the phaser stopped abruptly. "Done, Captain," said Worf. "The closing mechanism is down."

Just as Worf was shoving the airlock open there was a swishing sound from somewhere behind. They turned as one, seeing an engineer emerge from behind an opening door some distance away; Worf was resetting his phaser without so much as a look at it. Picard took a quick step in front of him.

"Captain!" said the man in undisguised surprise. Behind him, another man was moving about in a laboratory.

"Yes, Crewman?"

"Er... anything I can help you with, sir?" Behind his back, Picard could feel Worf bracing himself. But there was a hum of machinery coming from that room. There might be more people in there. They most definitely couldn't risk trouble now. The captain shook his head, shifting his weight in order to get a quick look at the man's right temple.

"No, thank you. Carry on." On a flash of inspiration he added: "This door was jammed just now. I may request your help if we encounter more malfunctions."

"Ah, yes." The engineer nodded. "We've had minor problems with the hardware all along down here." A doubtful pause. "You sure you don't need us, sir?"

"Quite sure." With an infinitesimal nod he indicated that the interview was at an end. After another pause the man said: "Yes, sir," and retreated back into the laboratory. There was a soft hiss of released breath coming from behind. Picard turned to look up at his henchman. "So apparently that turbolift was working when these men arrived for their shift."

Worf's response was a brief snarl, but he turned to edge through the opening without further comment. Picard followed, fighting that sense of unreality again. _This isn't my ship._ At the other end of the airlock, Worf was already busy phasering the second door.

The _Calypso_'s corridor, when the hatch finally opened before them, was dark and silent. The dim emergency lighting went up the moment the captain set foot on the vessel, but his automatic "Computer, lights" produced nothing but a soft chitter.

"Computer," he said without much hope, "locate Lieutenant Commander Data."

Another chitter. "Internal sensors off-line," replied the computer. "Insufficient power.

"

"Then the engines cannot be activated either," said Worf. "Sir, we could not launch this vessel if we found ourselves trapped here."

"_Damn_," Picard said softly. "So much for using her to warn our negotiator off... never mind. You take the rooms on the right side. I'll take the left."

Searching the small ship didn't take them long. Picard had finished with his side when he came upon Worf, standing with his back to him in the door of one of the staterooms. Without turning the Klingon said: "You were right, Captain."

He pushed past Worf and stopped, almost taken aback to see, finally, what he had been expecting to see at some stage – the motionless body of Data, prone on the carpet in the middle of the room. _Too easy_, the voice in the back of his mind said as he knelt by Data's side and felt for the tiny deactivating switch.

He could feel the switch turn under his fingers. There was no reaction. He waited a few seconds, then gripped Data's shoulder and shook him gently.

"Data!"

Nothing. Behind his back he could hear Worf fidgeting. He tried the switch again, feeling his stomach lurch a little. It was oddly unsettling, treating his second officer like the machine he was. Still no reaction, and now Worf said: "Captain, we cannot remain here. We must get back to the bridge as soon as possible."

"I know. Will you take him to the transporter?"

Worf nodded briefly, holding the phaser out to him. He took it, watched Worf hoist Data onto his shoulders, and led the way to the _Calypso_'s tiny transporter bay. At first glance the console appeared to be in standby mode, but when he activated it there was an ominous delay before the readouts lit up.

"Mr. Worf, I have a feeling we shouldn't try to use this transporter all at the same time. The whole system could be going down any moment."

Wordlessly, Worf deposited Data's body on the platform and stepped back. Picard quickly keyed in the destination and activated the transporter, and instead of the familiar glitter of the transporter effect there was only a brief chitter from the console, and then silence. The captain thought he could hear another soft snarl a few steps away.

"Computer, what happened?" he asked sharply.

"Access to the bridge has been restricted to Captain Picard and acting first officer Lieutenant Worf."

Picard turned his eyes briefly towards the ceiling.

"Of course. Computer, access to the bridge is to be granted to Lieutenant Commander Data as well."

"Acknowledged."

"Thank you. Shall we try again?"

A moment later Data's body vanished in a haze of glittering specks.

"You next, Captain," Worf said with some urgency. "I will follow immediately."

He nodded, mounted the transporter platform, and watched Worf handle the controls, and just as he thought he could hear the humming of the transporter start up the lights went down with a low whine, and the slab under his feet went dark.

He drew a few deep breaths, forcing his voice to sound calm.

"Computer, what's the matter?"

"Main power – " said the computer, and then there was a chitter and a crackle, and then silence.

For one incredulous moment they just looked at each other in the dim light.

"Let's get out of here," said the captain, and made for the door.

**- - - - - - -**


	16. Chapter 16

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 15 **

"You sure could have solved some of our problems up there, don't you think?" Ensign Westaway took an angry swig from his tumbler, and Sam Lavelle found himself thinking, uncomfortably, that they weren't really supposed to be hanging around Main Engineering with their drinks – but then Commander La Forge had clearly seen them, and didn't seem to mind. _I suppose it's all right – what harm could it do anyway?_ And now Szegi said: "He'll get us all into trouble if he can, and you just let him walk away."

"Well, what could I have done? I didn't even have a phaser. And if I'd had one – use it on the _captain_?"

"The point is, you didn't even try to do anything about it!" said Westaway.

"You're damn right. I didn't. I... well, I just didn't. He's my commanding officer, right? And he has that way of spearing you just by the way he looks at you – and he sort of pulled himself up – "

"All five foot eight of him?" sneered Szegi.

"Oh, come off it," Lavelle replied with a short disgusted sigh. "You two, you talk and talk – next time _you_ want to have a go at facing down the captain, just tell me in advance, and I'll be there to cheer you on."

Szegi gave a barking laugh and slapped him on the shoulder, instantly reconciled. "We will," he promised. "We will."

**- - - - - - -**

The captain had almost begun to hope that they might make their way back to the bridge without obstruction. Nobody had tried to prevent them from leaving the _Calypso_ and returning to Deck thirteen. The corridors were still strangely quiet; some civilians they encountered appeared to be indifferent to them, device or no device – and in fact the majority of them were wearing it quite openly. The turbolift, however, took a long time to arrive, and finally Worf, who had been scanning the junction of corridors in their backs uncomfortably, said: "We should try another stop, sir."

Picard nodded, having just come to the same conclusion; but as they rounded the corner their luck ran out. Striding along the corridor with Ensign Ryan in tow came Commander Riker – to stop abruptly when he saw them. Ryan was sporting the device like some decoration, but Will... Picard's eyes searched Riker's face with sudden hope, but yes, there it was, almost invisible against the first officer's dark hair and beard.

"Captain!" said Riker, somewhat surprised.

Picard felt Worf move up to his side, phaser in hand.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Good thing we've met, sir. You must take the ship out of this nebula – put that damn thing down, Worf, I'm not going to attack you. I tried to reach you, but the intercom isn't working properly. Captain, you wouldn't believe the ideas some people have. I've heard the security lot talk about teaching the Cardassians a lesson. Exobiology's gone mad. We must stop this, and we need help."

"Nobody is taking the ship anywhere, Will. We have an assignment, and at least while we're sitting here my crew can't harm outsiders. Until I have regained control of this ship we're not moving. And as for you – a few hours ago you were trying to relieve me of my command."

"I may have been a little rash, sir, in that case I beg your pardon. But you must do something. The Cardassian ship should be within sensor range by now, but it isn't, and the equipment has already started to deteriorate. This assignment _is_ just a set-up."

"Possibly. Possibly not. Will, I must get back to the bridge now."

"Sir, please, just listen. I've heard them talking about it. You'll never get them to go along with this, and I can't even say I'm surprised. We have to get out of here _now_ before somebody tries to do something spectacular. I tell you, they're taking the ship to pieces while we're talking!"

"Yes, we have noticed that. I'll see what I can do about it. Will – "

"At least let me come along, Captain. We _must_ get out of here. I could help."

"Not as long as all you say and think is influenced by that thing. And we're not leaving."

Riker groaned. "Captain, not _again_! We've been over this – "

"Indeed we have," Picard interrupted sharply. "Will, if you want to help, keep an eye on Geordi. I have every reason to believe that he is responsible for much of this mess, _including_ the communications breakdown. Apparently we both want this ship functional, so these are your orders."

After a moment's silence Riker said coldly: "Understood, sir," and when Picard just stood there, waiting, he nodded to Ryan and moved off. The captain waited until they were well out of sight before he started walking in the opposite direction, trying to make sense of the encounter. _At least Will still feels responsible for the ship – for what it's worth under the circumstances_.

"Well, Mr. Worf," he said with the ghost of a smile, "it seems it's still down to you and me."

"Yes, Captain," the Klingon said simply. Picard looked at him askance. Had that been an undertone of satisfaction in Worf's voice?

"You don't seem unduly concerned, Lieutenant."

"It is my duty to protect my ship and my captain. I shall endeavor to do so."

There was no doubt about it now. To a certain extent Worf was enjoying himself. With a slight edge of exasperation to his voice Picard began: "Mr. Worf, I would appreciate – ," and then he stopped himself. There were some issues he had learned not to argue with Worf. _Anyway, we're both lightheaded. He must be as tired as I am – he's hardly slept at all during the Mavvion mission, and since then.._. _I'll have to do something about it before we both conk out_.

The next turbolift was almost in view when they found their way blocked. "Come on," said a voice some ten meters ahead, and a moment later the corridor seemed to be filling up with people. Picard felt Worf tense, and then the hiss of a door in his back caused him to look back over his shoulder – to see two more emerging, taking up a position in the middle of the corridor. The group ahead, he saw now, was smaller than it had at first appeared. Ensigns N'Guyn and Kellogg and Crewman Kalish of Security and Ferguson of the stellar cartography department and a vaguely familiar civilian. He picked out N'Guyn before Worf, close behind his right shoulder, had an opportunity to address his subordinates.

"Well, Ensign? What's this all about?"

N'Guyn evidently hadn't been prepared for the question, for he promptly began to stammer. "Sir, we'd... that's to say, you..." Then he pulled himself together. The next sentence came out smoothly, like something he had been rehearsing in his mind. "I'm sorry, Captain, but you'll have to come with us for the moment. We can't allow you to return to the bridge just now."

Picard heard something like a very soft snarl to his right. Worf was evidently losing patience with the situation. A little quicker than intended he said: "That's where I am going, though. Now if you'd just let me pass – "

"I can't do that," said N'Guyn, almost apologetically, and at that moment Picard caught a sudden quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Reflexively, he dodged the blow from behind, and a fraction of a second later Worf whirled, lashed out, and slammed the attacker into the bulkhead with a ruthless blow that made Picard wince. The second man fell back, staring, but now Kalish in front was suddenly holding a phaser. Worf shouted a warning just as the captain's boot connected with the man's hand, sending the phaser flying. The next seconds were a blur. Somewhat incredulously Picard found himself with his back to the bulkhead, countering a blow from Ferguson, then another; then his knuckles caught the man on the side of the head, and Ferguson reeled backwards and into N'Guyn before he collapsed in a heap. Ensign Kellogg was scrambling for Kalish's weapon as Worf raised his own phaser and fired, stunning her at point-blank range, and then fired again, noticing something odd about the sound the phaser made this time – and when he pressed the button for the third time there was a hiss and a sputter, and the weapon fizzled out in his hand. Depleted, he realized, after having been used to cut through three duranium doors. He flung it at Kalish, furious at himself, at his subordinates, at the whole of the _Enterprise_ crew and at Starfleet on top of it all, and bent to pull his knife from its sheath in his right boot. The civilian hurled himself at him as he straightened up again, evidently hoping to find him unprepared. He slammed his fist into the man's chin, looking round for the captain. Picard was still on his feet a few meters away, somehow holding his own against Kalish, but by now N'Guyn was advancing on him as well, Kalish's phaser in hand, and on pure instinct Worf flung up his hand and threw. There was a bright flash and a wild scream, and for a moment the captain was as incredulous as the man who now held out his hand, staring, a small trickle of blood collecting in his palm from under the hilt of the thin blade that had neatly impaled it. The phaser skidded to a halt inches from Picard's boot, and the captain put his foot on it before Kalish had a chance to retrieve it. A moment later Worf, coming up at his subordinates from behind, took N'Guyn and Kalish by one shoulder each and jerked them both out of the way.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"Yes." Picard drew an audible breath; then he bent and picked the phaser up from the floor. "Let's get back to the bridge, shall we?"

Worf took a quick look round before turning to go. Kellogg and two of the others were still on the floor; Ferguson was just scrambling to his feet. The civilian sat with his head in his hands, moaning. N'Guyn and Kalish were looking back at him, silently, blood dripping from N'Guyn's hand. No danger here now, he decided.

"That was..." Once inside the turbolift, Worf searched for the appropriate term for a moment, and then said simply: "You fight well, sir."

"Thank you," Picard replied unhappily. Then, pulling himself together, he added: "I _almost_ wish you wouldn't train your security quite so well."

"Sir – !" said Worf, a note of reproach in his voice.

"And I knew there is a phaser under that sash of yours, Mr. Worf, but I didn't know you keep a knife in your boot."

"It has proved useful," Worf replied, matter-of-factly, and then the turbolift deposited them on the bridge.

The first thing Worf did was to open a locker and produce a tool kit while the captain went to check the readings on the aft consoles. "Nothing. No ships in the vicinity. Seven hours' warning they say, and apparently the bridge is still safe," he concluded, joining Worf again in the central well where the Klingon was kneeling over Data with a small scanner in his hand. Worf had opened a panel in the back of Data's head and was looking at the circuitry, frowning.

"What's the matter with him, Worf?"

"I believe La Forge interrupted the power flow from the reactivating switch to the commander's positronic brain. Captain, I am not supposed to know about the location of the switch. Do you remember if you left it in the on or the off position?"

After a moment of confusion Picard very nearly laughed. "The on position I believe. Worf, what do you mean by 'not _supposed_ to know'?"

"The commander prefers it to be secret. However, it is information relevant to my duties," Worf replied cryptically, reaching for another small tool. From the corner of his eye he could see the captain giving him a quizzical look before turning his attention back to Data, apparently willing to let it pass. There was something weighing on Worf's mind, however, something that couldn't wait. He had to get it over with. Drawing a deep breath, he began: "Sir – "

"Mhm?" said Picard, still intent on Data.

"I wish to apologize for my negligence."

Picard blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I failed in my duty, sir, and put both the ship and your safety at risk. It should not have happened."

"Lieutenant, what the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"I did not recharge my phaser when I had the opportunity, sir," Worf stated with painful determination. "Since I knew what might happen on our way back I should have taken precautions. I failed to do so."

"When would you have had the opportunity to recharge your phaser?"

"Aboard the _Calypso_ – sir."

"Oh," Picard said blankly. "I see."

"It never occurred to me," added Worf, set to make matters as clear, and as damning, as possible.

"Worf," the captain said, "I suggest you forget about it this instant. It never occurred to me either."

"No, sir. I, however – "

"Yes, yes, I know. What I don't know is how you _could_ have remembered a thing like that down there. So stop wondering how you could have kept me any safer than you did, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Worf said, reluctantly and, as usual, not sure that the captain was taking security as seriously as he should. But Picard evidently considered the matter settled. With a mental sigh Worf bent over Data again, and then, quite suddenly, Data's head jerked. Worf started, then caught himself.

"Extraordinary," said Data, hoisting himself up into a sitting position and feeling for the open panel. "This is the bridge. I distinctly remember being in Astrophysics. I was not aware that you are back, sir."

"We've been back for a few days now, Data. What does your internal clock say?"

Data frowned, a good approximation of human puzzlement. "Sir, I would greatly appreciate an explanation."

"In my ready room," Picard said before Worf could open his mouth. "This will take a while, and we are not sure whether or not we're being overheard here. And in fact I would like an explanation from _you_, Data. Are you all right?"

"I appear to be, Captain." Data closed the panel and rose, looking round the empty bridge with obvious interest and waiting until Picard and Worf had got to their feet as well. In his ready room the captain slid into his seat and folded his hands before him. Data took one of the chairs opposite; Worf remained on his feet.

"Well, Data. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was assisting Geordi in the astrophysics department. A piece of equipment appeared to be malfunctioning, and they were unable to determine the cause of the problem." Data paused, looking doubtful. "There was no solution that presented itself. I was about to remove an access panel with the aid of a technician when I _passed out_, to use the vernacular. I assume I have been deactivated."

"You have. So there was someone else, besides Geordi?"

"Yes, sir. Crewman Myers."

"Myers," echoed the captain, and then he grew very still. Data looked at him innocently.

"Is this significant, sir?"

"He's dead," replied Picard, his voice flat. "An accident. I had forgotten... I really forgot all about that. Data, was there any mention of a wire device – something supposed to put you in touch with your subconscious goals and desires?"

"Yes, sir," Data said readily. "Geordi had received such a device from Counselor Troi. He was very taken with it – even more, I believe, than Counselor Troi herself. In fact he displayed an enthusiasm which I found slightly disturbing. It appeared to me to be based on insufficient evidence. I was not convinced of the device's harmlessness. In fact I was of the opinion that it should be regarded with great caution."

"I suppose you told him so."

"Yes, sir. I strongly suggested that it might be wise if I was to take it and run some tests on it."

"That's why he deactivated you. It's all over the ship by now."

"I see," Data said calmly. "Even so, this is a course of action I should not have expected Geordi to take."

"Data, Geordi's not himself – no more than any of the others," Picard said gently. "It doesn't mean a thing. There is something at work here which we must get under control, and quickly too. Briefly, the situation is – "

"I see," Data said again when the captain had finished. "It would appear that we should ascertain whether the probes are functioning correctly, try to regain control of the ship by means of the main computer, and develop a method of counteracting the device – if possible before the Cardassian negotiator arrives."

Picard's lips twitched. "Yes, Data, I believe that is an accurate summary."

Data nodded. "I will need the device you have procured from Counselor Troi, sir."

"It's here, but I must warn you – it's the only one we have. We might try to replicate it, but somehow I doubt it's as easy as that." Picard frowned; then he asked: "Data, can you work with these facts?"

Catching the tiny variation in the captain's voice, and analyzing it even while he opened his mouth to answer, Data said: "Probably, sir. However, it will require some time. The best way of determining the device's workings would be to observe its effects on an organic brain, but we do not have that option. I will have to find a different approach. Sir, according to the probes' readings there are still no ships in the vicinity. May I suggest that both you and Lieutenant Worf take the opportunity to rest?"

"Those probes won't be reliable for much longer I'm afraid. And what about the main computer?"

"I can easily keep an eye on the probes. I will try to establish an interface with the main computer. It should allow me to determine what has been sabotaged and how far the damage goes. I am quite capable of doing this by myself, sir. I will also conduct a self-diagnostic to identify any damage done to myself. There is little either of you could do to assist me, and I am under the impression that you would be the better for some rest."

"It's a tempting offer," the captain said with a very slight smile. "In fact... Data, I depend on you to wake me the moment anything happens, and I mean _anything_. In five hours at the latest. Is that understood?"

"Certainly, sir," said Data. "If that is all I will get to work immediately."

"There _is_ one more thing," said Picard. "Thank you, Data. It's good to have you back."

Data nodded, rose, and left. Picard found himself staring blankly at the door for a few seconds after it had shut. He pulled himself together.

"Well, Mr. Worf, we should both take Data's advice I think. Find yourself some place to sleep – you'll need your faculties later on."

Worf frowned, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then squared his shoulders. Wearily, Picard asked: "Yes, Lieutenant? What is it now?"

"Permission to remain and keep watch while you rest, Captain."

"Certainly not!" said Picard, aghast. "Whatever for?"

"You are no longer safe on this ship."

"I don't envision any member of my crew materialising in my ready room and stabbing me in my sleep. Besides, I need _you_ functional."

"Captain, I would – "

Picard cut him off sharply. "Lieutenant," he said, "I _order_ you to rest."

"I do not require rest!" snapped Worf, bristling.

There was a brief silence during which Picard looked up at him with a wide-eyed unwavering expression the Klingon recognized at once. They had been at this point a number of times before. _Not a chance_.

"Request withdrawn, sir," he growled after a couple of seconds.

"Good. In fact I order you to get a couple of blankets and sleep if you can." And when he found that Worf was still looking at him with a frown, he added firmly: "Dismissed."

The silence was roaring in his ears once Worf had left. The sight of a mug of cold tea on his desk reminded him of the fact that he hadn't eaten all day, and after a few seconds he mustered the energy to get to his feet, walk over to the replicator and order a salad, which he carried to his desk and ate without giving the food a second thought. According to the computer it was late afternoon. It might have been three in the morning for all he could tell. It took him a determined effort to rise once again and cover the distance to the sofa, but it was sheer relief to lie down, to take the weight off his feet and close his eyes. _That Cardassian. I just hope to God he'll give us a little more time..._

Lieutenant Worf, meanwhile, had entered the conference lounge with a blanket roll under his arm, deeply at odds with his commanding officer and not at all appeased when he found himself yawning even while he reflected on the inappropriateness of resting while his captain might be in danger. However, a direct order was a direct order, and Picard had left him no loophole. After scanning the room with disfavor he chose a spot by the wall near the starboard door, unrolled his blankets, vowed to himself that he would wake the moment his presence was required, and lay down.

**- - - - - - -**


	17. Chapter 17

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 16**

Main Engineering had looked better, Commander Riker couldn't help thinking. He felt a twinge of conscience as he became aware of the thought. Most of the consoles were deserted. A group of people, some in yellow, a few in blue, were hanging around the food dispenser, talking. Lieutenant Barclay had parked one hip on the central control table and was listening in, idly pushing keys on the padd he was holding. Through the transparent wall of the Chief Engineer's office the pale pillar of the warp core, humming softly in standby mode, looked oddly... unheeded. It all made Riker feel restless; he was tempted to raise his voice and send everybody about their respective businesses. And whether it was because it was of a piece with all the rest, or because of his own nagging discontent, he found Geordi's attitude increasingly annoying.

"Sorry, Will. You really should have made up your mind earlier." Geordi swiveled his chair away from the master console he had been working. Riker, standing in the middle of the office with his hands on his hips, shook his head.

"That's not good enough. There must be _some_ way of getting out of here."

"I tried." Geordi gave him an affable grin. "What brings you here all of a sudden, anyway?"

"That Cardassian. Sensors really should have picked him up by now. He isn't even within range, unless those probes are malfunctioning. And the longer he keeps us waiting the more helpless we are. I just don't believe that's a coincidence. I'd like some options."

"You wanna get out of here? Take a shuttle," Geordi suggested. Then, realizing that the atmosphere was turning ugly all of a sudden, he grew professional. "I _have_ tried, you know. I've tried to transfer Conn and Ops down here. The computer just tells me that it needs the captain's authorisation. I've tried to reprogram, and I can't – I might have managed in the end, but not with Data on the bridge. Did you know it's a kind of last-ditch thing, the captain transferring all command functions to himself? I could try cutting power to the bridge and a complete shutdown, and then initiate self-correct, but frankly I don't dare do that right now, not with the way the computer's behaving. It's not that I don't _want_ my ship out of this damn cloud, Will. There's just no way of doing it – except you get the captain to stand down."

"You told him where to find Data, then?"

Geordi froze. After a moment he asked guardedly: "How do _you_ know?"

"Barclay," Riker said briefly. "He worked it out when Worf insisted the internal sensors had been tampered with, and he tried to fix 'em and realized that he couldn't. Says there are just two people on this ship who could have achieved that. – _Did_ you tell the captain?"

"No. Must have figured it out by himself." An awkward pause. "I didn't enjoy doing that, you know."

"I don't care, Mister. You did it. Right now I just want this ship functional and out of here before everything breaks down."

Geordi bit his lip. "No argument here. It all comes down to those command functions. And the captain won't listen."

"I know. I tried." Riker gave an involuntary sigh. "It's a no-win mission, so he'll see it through. And he's taken a stand regarding the device, so he won't budge. And we're dealing with Cardassians, so he'll prove to himself and everybody else that he can handle it. I thought I could do something about it – I don't want to get us all caught in here. It's a kind of obsession with him, really. But I'm not too sure about all of this either." He indicated the chatting group with a jerk of his thumb back over his shoulder. Geordi shrugged.

"They're all right, Will. There are a lot of people I can count on when it comes to leaving – I've made sure of that. They'll jump to it as soon as I give the word. I've made sure I _can_ give them the word, too – rigged up a new com system when the intercom went down." He tapped the communicator on his chest. "They're not personalized any longer, but they work."

Riker's eyes narrowed. "Wait a moment. So you _have_ sabotaged the intercom?" he asked, incredulously. "Geordi, what the hell do you think you're doing here? The captain said you had, and I thought he's raving! We're at yellow alert, man! Have you at least – " He took two quick steps to look at the displays on Geordi's console. "I don't believe this. Where's your backup personnel? Did you give _them_ some of your fancy badges? How're you going to alert them when you need them? They're supposed to perform on five minutes' notice in an emergency, man! You know that. You –"

"Look, I had no choice. It was the only way – "

"You idiot, what if there _is_ an emergency? Who's going to run this ship, and how? Get your team together and get the equipment back up, and be quick about it! Meanwhile _I_'d like one of those, if you don't mind. And a couple for Deanna and Beverly."

"Sure. Help yourself. There are some over there." Geordi got up from his chair. "Mind you, Will, I'm not required to take orders from you. And you realize we're not going anywhere unless we _somehow_ get the captain to cooperate, don't you."

"Somehow," echoed Riker, pausing in the act of reaching for a handful of badges. There was a slow, singularly unpleasant smile beginning to spread over his face. Geordi couldn't quite see the smile, of course, but other things – the first officer's tone of voice, for one – served to warn him.

"Look, I'm not going to harm anybody. You know I wouldn't. I just don't want my ship taken to bits by the Cardassians, and I'll make sure they don't. That's all. It's in the captain's best interest as well as anybody else's, whether he sees it that way or not."

"Really." Riker crossed his arms. "Well, Mister, let me tell you something. One, _you_'re not running this ship either. Two, he's still the captain, and you better keep that in mind. All right, so we have to get out of here. So he has a thing about the device. But beyond that I'm not having anybody walk over him."

"Hey, wait a moment. He's relieved you of duty, hasn't he? D'you know it's just a few hours since Worf was down here making a nuisance of himself as acting first officer?"

"Right, so what?" snapped Riker. "For all I know we're _all_ relieved of duty. Or what do you think you're doing right now – your job? From what I can see you're just making sure you can go on playing. Oh, I know you got plans for this ship. Like everybody else. I don't know what your grand ideas are, and frankly I don't care. Just now I suggest you help me clear up the mess you've made, else _nobody's_ ideas will do us much good. I'll have a word with Deanna – we must get this crew together somehow." And he swung out of the office without waiting for Geordi's answer.

"Go ahead, Commander," said Geordi, amused, to empty air. "Have it your way entirely. We don't exactly need _you_ either." Then, seeing that Barclay had evidently taken note of Riker's abrupt exit, and was now looking over at him with intense and, as usual, slightly startled interest, he nodded to him to join him. "You heard that, Reg? Sounded like Captain Will to me."

"I t-think a lot of people will listen to him," Barclay said, looking harassed. "Doctor Crusher said... well, she, she said the way some people are carrying on, it's w-worrying her. They're reckless, she said."

"Oh, really. So we apologize and go back to ferrying bureaucrats?"

"I d-didn't say that!" Barclay was sounding flustered. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you, though frankly, Reg, telling Will about Data wouldn't have been necessary. But I'd like you to help me with this, and it's about time we started."

**- - - - - - -**

"Bridge to Captain Picard."

The voice was, by any human standards, entirely neutral, but the captain was wide awake within a second. He sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. "Yes. What is it, Data?"

"I believe I have come across something you should know, sir."

"I'll be there in a moment." He was pulling on his boots as he spoke, and as he had lain down fully dressed otherwise he was on the bridge a few seconds later. Almost simultaneously, however, Worf appeared from the direction of the conference lounge and joined him at the aft station Data was occupying.

"What have you found, Data?"

"I have been trying to regain control of the main computer, sir, although so far with limited success. There is something peculiar going on in Main Engineering. Energy is being rerouted, and a number of systems appear to have been shut down, although this may be due to computer malfunctions. However, the energy transfer is a fact."

"Where is it being used?"

"I cannot tell, sir, but the amount is very considerable. Someone has apparently been trying to disconnect the bridge systems. I was able to prevent serious damage, but computer dependability is decreasing. I believe the attempt was aborted when it became obvious that it might result in the loss of bridge life support."

"I suppose the backup modules would still work."

"Yes, sir. However, it is possible that Geordi is not certain of this. The incident suggests that whatever he is trying to achieve, he is also determined to avoid harming you or Lieutenant Worf. Unfortunately I am currently unable to predict his next move."

The captain frowned, trying to get through to the implications of all this. From behind Worf's voice rumbled: "The probes report no ships in the vicinity, sir."

"I have not been able to establish whether or not the probes are functioning," said Data. "The evidence suggests they do. We may have approximately ten hours before serious damage will set in."

Picard nodded and then said, by way of experiment: "Computer, transfer Engineering to the bridge."

"Transfer not possible," replied the computer.

"Well, I suppose it was worth a try. We'll have a look at Main Engineering."

"You cannot go, sir", said Worf promptly. "It is too dangerous. They _attacked_ you." His voice still implied the abysmal dishonor betrayed by the fact. Picard smiled a little.

"I remember. We still have to stop whatever's going on down there."

"I would prefer you to remain here, sir."

"I don't doubt that, Mr. Worf, but it's Data who must stay. He's the only one who can handle the ship right now."

"You might still stay with him."

"There must be two on that team – in case something goes wrong," said Picard, opening one of the bridge lockers and taking out a phaser..

"You could handle the bridge systems while Data and I go, sir," Worf suggested hopefully. "It would not take long."

"They may well try to gain access to the bridge once they realize we have split up," said Data.

Looking alarmed, Worf was opening his mouth to revoke his last suggestion when Data added: "However, as we cannot rule out the possibility that the probes are malfunctioning, and as going down to Engineering may be time-consuming and dangerous, it might be advisable for the captain to remain here. I do not believe the Cardassian negotiator would react favorably to being greeted by either you or me, Lieutenant."

"In that case I will have to remain too," Worf replied firmly.

"The wolf, the goat and the cabbage," muttered Picard, attaching the phaser to his hip after carefully checking the setting.

"Sir?"

"An old French story. A farmer is crossing a river with a wolf, a goat and a cabbage. He can only load one of them into his boat at each crossing, and he cannot leave the wolf with the goat, _or_ the goat with the cabbage, unattended on either shore. There is a way of doing this, but it's rather complicated. – No, don't tell me!" he added quickly on noticing Data's suddenly eager expression. "It's really just an analogy. Worf and I will go."

Data nodded and went on without missing a beat. "I have modified some backup communicators in case such a situation should occur, sir. They should respond to one another and to the bridge. However, I have reason to believe that Geordi has been doing something similar, probably utilizing the normal commbadges."

"So they can use their badges, but we can't?"

"Yes, sir. However, under the circumstances I doubt theirs will still retain the personal coding. Any message sent will be received by anybody who activates the target communicator. I might have modified commbadges to similar effect, but considering the state of the intercom system I preferred using the emergency models."

The captain nodded, sliding the strap of one of them over his wrist. They were clumsy things, doubling as locator devices and with half the functions of a tricorder built into them – emergency gear. "We'll try to remain in contact, but whatever happens, your responsibilities are up here. Worf, you're with me. You have the bridge, Data."

"I suggest," said Worf, once inside the turbolift, "that we take them by surprise, stun everybody before they can raise an alarm, and seal off Main Engineering."

Picard sighed. "I don't suppose they'd listen to reason at this stage. Still, it sounds like a very Klingon approach, Mr. Worf. "

Worf hesitated for about half a second, gave him a sidelong glance in which Picard thought he saw a trace of amusement, and then stated: "There are situations that require a more Klingon approach, Captain."

"I'm afraid you are right. Heavy stun, then, and narrow beam."

"Understood, sir," Worf said, and then the turbolift stopped. Worf signaled for him to take cover on one side of the door while he moved to the other, raising his phaser. The door slid open. A crewman was standing by the central control table with his back to them, not turning quickly enough. Worf's beam caught him between the shoulder blades. Somewhere, someone gave a shout just as the man went down. Another man came into view, diving into cover behind the control table before they could get out of the turbolift, and a moment later a bright red beam hissed past them and hit the far wall of the car. Worf ducked, then darted out, taking cover on their side of the table while the next volley sizzled over his head. Picard could see him firing a few rapid shots in the direction of Geordi's office; then the man on the other side of the table raised his head, peering, and the captain's beam caught him before he could take cover again. _Szegi_, thought Picard mechanically, leaning out of the turbolift to pick off someone who came dashing into Engineering from the direction of the offices. A moment later he joined Worf, crouching down in the shelter of the table. "More, Lieutenant?"

"I cannot see, Captain."

"Computer," called Picard over the hiss of yet another phaser discharge. From the direction of the master monitor he thought he could see sparks flying. "Establish security forcefields to seal off Main Engineering from all adjacent rooms. Including the reactor core chamber!" he added as he caught movement there from the corner of his eye. The forcefields shimmered into place, and the hissing stopped abruptly. After a moment of silence Picard cautiously got to his feet.

"They were very quick to return our fire, Captain." Worf followed suit, dispassionately taking in the four or five crewmen on the floor of the control room. "Several were carrying sidearms. They must have been expecting to use them."

The captain surveyed his handiwork with a thoroughly unhappy expression. "There should be more people here. Where _is_ everybody? Can you see Geordi?"

Worf took a few steps in the direction of the Chief Engineer's office, looking down on a crumpled form. "No. This is Russell. Sir," he added carefully, the growl creeping back into his voice, "the phaser that hit the master monitor was not set to stun."

"No, Worf, it wasn't. Let's get to work."

He was calling up a power distribution graph on an active console as he spoke, realizing almost dispassionately that Geordi's control of his team appeared to be shaky at best. At least, while Geordi might be reluctant to risk inadvertently cutting bridge life support, the chief engineer's scruples evidently weren't shared by everybody... The graph was a mess, he realized a moment later. _This can't be true_. Granted, he wasn't an engineer – in fact Worf was better at that sort of thing. But even so –

"Captain," said Worf abruptly from his own console, "we do not have any shields."

_Impossible_. "Bring them up to standby again – now!" replied the captain.

"No, sir. There _are_ no shields. Power has been rerouted. Phasers are off-line as well. There is – " Worf was working frantically as he spoke – "there is no way to restore yellow alert conditions. I am trying to trace the power transfers."

"How did he do that?" Picard asked sharply.

"I do not know," replied Worf through clenched teeth. An array of lights on his console was flashing frantically by now. "This does not make sense."

"Worf," said Picard, "I think I've found it. All that power is going to the battle bridge. Phasers, shields – dear God, I think he's trying to separate the saucer section."

With a brief snarl, Worf spun to tackle the central control table. "There is a diagnostic cycle running on all systems to disguise the transfers. It appears to be locked in. I will have to break it before I can try to recalibrate or rerout."

"Do it," said Picard, appearing at his elbow. "And try to make sure things stay the way you leave them. Fuse the circuitry if you have to. I'm going up to the battle bridge. We must keep Geordi from taking this ship to pieces."

It took Worf a second to grasp the implications. Then he whirled. "You cannot, sir!"

"Worf," said Picard, trying to make his point in the shortest possible time, "you're better than I at sorting this out, and I can't wait for you to finish. We don't have the time. Join me once you're done here."

Worf muttered something incomprehensible as he dropped his phaser onto the table's shiny surface with a clatter and started working frantically. From somewhere in his back he heard Picard's voice instructing the computer to lower the forcefield long enough for him to enter the turbolift, and put it up again afterwards. _I must be quicker about this_. Breaking the diagnostic cycle alone could take forever. Horrible things could happen while he wasn't about. He jerked his thoughts away from it. _At ease, Lieutenant_.

This time, it didn't work at all.

**- - - - - - -**

The captain had been re-setting his phaser as he walked down the few meters of corridor between the turbolift stop and the battle bridge entrance, relieved that the computer still accepted his power level override. The short turbolift ride had given him a moment to decide on the next steps. He couldn't allow the separation – but at least, at the very least he had to prevent his chief engineer from getting away with the functional weaponry of a Galaxy-class starship. _And I don't even know what he's up to_. But whatever it might be, the implications were frightening.

Picard stepped out onto the battle bridge and into a scene of focused activity. There was Geordi as expected, bending over the Ops console and turning with a startled expression the moment the door opened, but he was not alone. Barclay was there too, squatting over a box of tools on the upper bridge level, as well as the pretty young woman of the hot chocolate incident – and suddenly the name flashed into his memory. Gomez. Lieutenant junior grade Sonya Gomez. Three, not one. He might just be able to deal with it. He walked down the steps towards Geordi, head held high.

"Well, that's a surprise, sir", the chief engineer said with more than a trace of nervousness.

"What are you doing here, Mr. La Forge?"

Geordi took him in – the missing commbadge, the emergency comm unit dangling from his wrist, the phaser in his hand. And the fact that he was alone, that the door was already hissing shut and nobody else was emerging.

"Just – uh, some alterations, sir. You see, I hadn't quite expected that particular command transfer. Should have known better." Geordi's grin held a touch of admiration. Picard could feel Barclay moving into position behind his back, but he couldn't turn now. Behind Geordi was the Ops console, and although he could not see the displays from where he was standing he felt quite certain that what had been going on there a moment before was an attempt to overrule or bypass the command functions in order to separate the engineering hull. He shifted his position a little, and Geordi moved with him, keeping between him and the console. It was all he needed to know. Picard raised his phaser.

"Step aside, Mr. La Forge."

"Hey, what – " Geordi hurriedly got out of the way when he saw the captain take aim. A bright beam lashed out and hit the console, and the shiny surface shattered straight away. From somewhere to the left Picard heard Geordi's voice yelling: "Wait! You can't do that, Captain!" but he was too intent on what he was doing to turn his head – hoping against hope that nobody would try something foolish now as sparks were beginning to fly and the console started to disintegrate under a level-nine phaser beam. It was the highest setting he dared use with the three others somewhere behind him, staring in disbelief at the sight of their captain taking his own bridge to pieces.

**- - - - - - -**

In Main Engineering, Lieutenant Worf clenched his teeth as his communicator made the chittering sound peculiar to these backup devices. He had his hands full – in every sense of the word, having just removed a panel in the central control table – and the awareness that he was kneeling with his back to a large open space, and had had to put his phaser down on the deck, made him feel acutely uncomfortable.

"Worf here," he snarled.

"Mr. Worf," Data's serene voice came over the commlink, "I have discovered a piece of information you might find useful."

"Please be quick about it, sir. I must rejoin the captain."

"Certainly," said Data, and began to expound.

**- - - - - - -**

On the battle bridge, Picard braced himself as he felt some movement behind his back. A moment later Barclay grabbed his left arm in a half-hearted attempt to pull him away, but the man was even more jittery than usual, and he shook him off without effort, hearing the clatter of his communicator as the device hit the floor. The phaser beam wavered, briefly hitting the readouts underneath the viewscreen and steadying again. Flames and smoke were erupting from the console now, and the sharp smell of melting circuits was growing stronger. The heat was intense. "Damn you, stop it!" shouted Geordi, voice cracking with frustration, and then: "Get a phaser, someone. The locker over there. Sonya!"

"No," squeaked Gomez. "Geordi, please – I don't want to – "

Geordi hit his commbadge. "Singh, you there? Come right up to the battle bridge. We've a problem here."

The captain switched his phaser off and turned to face his officers. "Get out of the way," he said, quietly. "I'll have to deactivate Tactical as well."

They moved hesitantly, Barclay lingering in the central well with his eyes on the phaser, Geordi trying to get behind Picard's back – playing for time, he realized. "Captain – !" said Lieutenant Gomez, almost pleadingly, very evidently at a loss. Picard raised his arm and fired again, one short blast that left a smoking black stain on the railing two steps away from Barclay. Plastic sizzled and hissed round the edges. Barclay retreated hastily, and he aimed his phaser at the Tactical console and fired. The beam drilled into the casing; there was a mad squeal that cut into him as if he had just killed a living thing, and the hiss and crackle of burning conduits. Smoke was billowing over the bridge now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door open. Lieutenant Singh raced in, Kalish and Walser in tow, stopped in his tracks for a second to take in the situation, and groped for his phaser. The captain terminated the beam and lowered his own weapon just as Singh raised his. "Don't move, sir!"

Picard stood still, obediently. "And what would you do if I did, Lieutenant – with a phaser set to level nine?"

"But you wouldn't, Captain," said Singh. "Still, I'd like that phaser of yours."

**- - - - - - -**

In Main Engineering Lieutenant Worf slammed the last panel into place, took a step back and raised his weapon. Welding the damned thing into the bulkhead might hide the fact that Yellow Alert status was well and truly sealed in now – for as many minutes as they would need to carefully remove the panel. He forced himself to do the job properly although all his instincts urged him to get out of the place and go in search of the captain. It must have been many minutes since he had last heard of him.

He stabbed at his communicator device. "Worf to captain."

Nothing. The silence chilled him without surprising him in the least. He tried again, an uncanny feeling of déja vu setting in.

"Worf to Captain Picard. Come in, sir."

Nothing.

"Computer, locate Captain Picard."

"Captain Picard is not on the ship," replied the computer.

Worf drew his breath in through his teeth with a sound like a soft snarl. "Worf to bridge. Sir, can you locate the captain?"

Silence.

He strode towards the turbolift, deactivating the forcefield with a fierce growl at the intercom. He half-expected the hiss and flash of a phaser beam from somewhere, but Main Engineering remained silent. The turbolift door opened. Worf was about to dash in with a last suspicious look back when he saw that the car wasn't empty. The four people inside started back, as surprised at first as he was. Three of his security, he realized, and Szegi of Engineering. Surprisingly, the Zaldan was the first to get his bearings.

"Well, Worf. Glad to see you're still here. Now if you just come with us we can get this over with."

"What?" said Worf, taken aback. He simply wasn't used to the tone – neither from a Zaldan nor from anyone else.

Szegi opened his mouth to reply when Ensign Macaulay intervened. "Commander La Forge's orders, sir. We've brought something for you – we're really just supposed to show you how it works. If – "

"You are in my way," interrupted Worf dangerously. "Leave the turbolift or I will remove you."

"Hey," said Szegi. "I don't need this. We have orders for you. We'll see to it – "

At that Worf grabbed Szegi's uniform tunic with one hand, pulled him out into the open, and lashed out with the other, pivoting at the same time. Szegi was lifted clean off his feet; arms pinwheeling, he crashed into the central control table, tumbled over one corner of it, and disappeared from sight. As Worf turned back, Macaulay's boot slammed into his upper arm. She had been one of his best pupils in the various martial arts courses he had taught. He staggered against the doorframe, just noticing, from the corner of his eye, the red stain exploding on his sleeve where the kick had burst the bat'telh wound open again. He barely felt the pain. _I must find the captain_, he thought, desperately, and a moment later the three of them were on top of him.

**- - - - - - -**


	18. Chapter 18

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 17**

Picard looked on silently as Kalish plucked the phaser out of his hand, carefully resetting it before he passed it on to Gomez. Lieutenant Singh turned to Geordi.

"Do you have control of the ship, sir?"

"Do I look like I have?" Geordi gestured towards the ruined Ops console. "You've made a beautiful mess of it, Captain. We still have to get the ship out of this nebula, but we can't do it the way I wanted to. I need the command functions, sir."

"Why?" asked Picard, thinking: _Keep him talking_. "And why should we take the ship out of the nebula?"

Geordi raised his shoulders. "Look, sir, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I could explain it. You wouldn't want to hear it, for one. At least, not the way you're looking at things now. I would have preferred doing this any other way, but we've got to do it, and we're running out of time. We'll have those Cardassians here in a few hours, and most of us just don't want to go on with this."

"I am afraid I don't quite understand," Picard said coldly.

"Well, that's the point, in a way." Geordi looked at Singh with something like a tiny shrug. Lieutenant Singh gave his subordinates a brief nod. Without turning his head Picard could feel them move into position behind his back. "If you did we wouldn't be stuck here. I can't get at those command functions – not with Data on the bridge, anyway. And you aren't going to help us unless I somehow make you understand, but you wouldn't listen if I tried. So I'll have to do this on my own authority, just because I know it's right. You wouldn't give that device a chance even now, Captain, would you?"

"If you mean try it out, most definitely no!" Picard replied sharply.

"Yes, well, I was afraid you'd say that. Only... you'll have to, sir. I've one here. It's the only way."

"Commander, do you realize this is an act of mutiny?"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you don't leave me much of a choice, you know. You may lock me in the brig for this, but I don't think you will once you understand. Allow me..."

Geordi took a few steps towards him. Incredulously, the captain felt his arms gripped by the two security men. They were forcing him back against the nearest bulkhead, not violently, just firmly enough to leave no doubt they could grip harder if necessary. Still –

There had always been a kind of invisible forcefield surrounding the captain. People did not usually touch him; very few ever came close enough even to brush against him. Picard had felt that forcefield beginning to break down lately, but judging by others' reactions it still wasn't quite gone, and the security people were no exception. They weren't comfortable with this he felt, not comfortable with the word _mutiny_ or the fact they were openly defying their captain. It took him a fraction of a second to recognize the implications. He had one chance, and only one he knew. This would work just once.

Bracing his shoulders against the bulkhead behind him, he jerked his knee into La Forge's stomach the moment he was close enough, saw the chief engineer double up, then brought him down with a foot hooked behind his knees. Barclay appeared in the gap, and Kalish gasped as Picard tore his right arm free, pivoted and aimed for Barclay's chin. The blow connected solidly – more solidly than the captain could have hoped. Barclay staggered backwards with a dazed expression and collapsed, and Picard managed, almost, to break away before the security men had made up their minds. But then he heard Singh's voice shouting something, sounding desperate, and Kalish gripped his arm again while Geordi struggled to his feet, and the brief moment was past. Immobilized against the bulkhead, he felt his head forced to one side. Close to panic now, he was struggling blindly, frantically; it was all Walser and Kalish could do to keep hold of him. He could hear Gomez' voice in the background, shrill with dismay: "Don't – please, Geordi, don't!" Somewhere very close La Forge wheezed: "It's all right, sir, you'll see..." Then the cool metal of the device sliding into place and a flash of pain like barbed lightning tearing through his brain. He heard himself cry out, a strange breathless sound he hardly recognized, and tried once more, hopelessly, to break away – and then something caught his eye, and all of a sudden everything was very still, and everybody was staring.

It was Worf, not four steps away, face half-obscured by tangled hair, blood soaking his left sleeve and dripping onto the floor, phaser in hand. He was looking down on the weapon as if to make sure of the setting, then up again and straight into Picard's face. For the second time that day the world seemed to reel around the captain. He saw the phaser leveled squarely at his own chest, and for what could only have been fractions of a second sought Worf's eyes, trying desperately to reach what surely, surely must still be left of his mind and loyalty in the black madness rising to engulf them all – but if Worf understood the silent plea, he gave no sign of it. He very deliberately pushed the button on his weapon instead.

The blast threw the captain back against the bulkhead, then to his knees. Kalish and Walser both let go of him and backed away, aghast, and he collapsed on the floor. The security men stared as Worf finally switched off the beam and slowly lowered his phaser. Barclay let out a low "Whew!". Gomez gave a sigh of profound, shuddering relief; she even managed a tremulous smile at Worf. And then she froze.

"Well, that wasn't really necessary, Worf," gasped Geordi. "But I appreciate – "

Then he, too, heard the low growl vibrating in the air.

"Look here, Worf," said Geordi, backing away even as he spoke, "just let me explain, okay? It's not that..."

Singh's hand was stealthily moving towards his phaser now, but he hadn't reached it when Worf raised his own weapon again and fired. Kalish dodged the beam as it swiveled towards him and lunged for Worf's legs, realizing too late that his superior had been expecting the move; he landed hard where Worf had been standing a moment before, and a vicious kick sent him crashing into the nearest console. A streak of black and amber hurtled past him. Barclay, only just staggering to his feet, tried throwing himself in the way and went flying. Geordi saw it coming, not quite believing that the rage he saw could be real, and aimed at him; then the fist crashed into his chin, hurling him halfway across the bridge. Worf whirled, feeling something hot grazing his cheek as he did, pointed his weapon at the source of it and fired, and kept firing until all movement had ceased; then, with a brutal effort, he tore himself out of it. Chest heaving, hands clenched, he stood for a moment getting his bearings. A Klingon battle rage was not – was not supposed to be – a thing easily controlled. _At ease, Lieutenant_.

He shoved Singh out of the way and knelt over the captain, turning him over on his back and feeling for his pulse, his breath catching in his throat for a second. A sustained level-three phaser blast, even at short range, should not – _could_ not, surely – be enough to kill. But the range had been very short indeed, and he _had_ aimed for quick unconsciousness, and Worf had never been comfortable with the thought of Picard's artificial heart – and then he found the pulse beating, faintly, under his fingers.

With a surge of relief he lifted the captain's head, carefully brushing the device away from his temple and cheek. For a moment or two he looked down on it, frowning. Some memory tugged at him, bothering him, some ugly association he couldn't immediately place; he was tempted to crush the thing in his hand. Then he thought better of it. Data might find some use for it.

Rising, he looked round. Ops was a ruin. So was Tactical. The captain had clearly completed what he had come for. Worf nodded briefly to himself and knelt by Picard again, promptly worried at the sight of the scorched stain on the red uniform tunic. It was an ugly wound he had caused; he would have to see to it, quickly. He gathered him up and rose, effortlessly, to his feet. Blood from his gashed arm was still dripping onto the floor; he felt it soaking the captain's uniform. He had forgotten all about the injury – it couldn't be helped now. Then a communicator chirped. "Crusher to La Forge," an exasperated-sounding voice said. "Geordi, can you hear me?"

Worf looked round among the sprawled bodies, made out La Forge's, and deftly activated the badge with his boot. "Worf here."

Confused, the voice answered: "Geor- Worf? _Worf_? Wait a moment, what _is_ going on down there?"

"The situation is under control," rumbled Worf. "You may want to send a medical team, Doctor. Worf out." He turned on his heel and strode towards the emergency turbolift.

**- - - - - - -**


	19. Chapter 19

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 18**

The first thing the captain saw when he opened his eyes was the face of Lieutenant Worf who was looking down on him with a worried frown. The memory came back in a single flash, and with it the realization that he must get out of it at any cost while he could – if he still could. With a quick, reflexive movement he brought up his arm, shielding his head and at the same time driving his elbow into Worf's face with all the strength he could muster. The Klingon staggered sideways with a gasp of surprise, and the captain followed up with a jerk of his knee that was aimed at Worf's stomach but ended up in his side, trying to get to his feet while Worf regained his balance.

It didn't work, of course. Whether it was the fact that he was half-dazed still or whether there never had been a shadow of a chance for the captain taking on his own Chief of Security, Worf caught himself with hardly an effort and was up again, blood pouring from his nose, before Picard had regained his bearings. A moment later the captain found his feet neatly knocked from under him, and then he was flat on his back without ever having felt himself falling – and even while he was struggling to break free he felt, uncomprehendingly, that Worf was being curiously gentle about it. He lashed out in something like desperation, and Worf blocked that blow easily too; the next moment he had gripped Picard's wrists and was forcing them down.

"Keep still, Captain. I would not hurt you" – and then he added, very deliberately: "You are safe with me, sir."

He was still perforce, dizzy and gasping for breath, staring up into Worf's battered face; it was seconds before he could grasp what he had just heard. As the words were sinking in his eyes went to the Klingon's right temple where the device would have been, half-concealed in hair as Worf's usually neat pigtail was a dishevelled mess by now. It needn't mean anything, but the device was not there. And Worf, feeling that he was calmer, cautiously released him. Picard struggled up on one elbow, taking note of his surroundings for the first time. He was back where he had come round, on the sofa in his ready room.

"What happened, Worf?"

"I stunned you, sir, when I saw what they were trying to do. It seemed the only way. Then I brought you back here."

The captain frowned, suddenly noticing Worf's utterly ruined uniform. "I don't quite understand. Good Lord, Worf – "

"It is nothing, sir," rumbled the Klingon. "Data told me that he had found a way of neutralizing the device. A phaser set to maximum stun knocks out all higher brain functions, leaving it with nothing to lock on to. But it must happen quickly – before it has adapted. I could not be certain what it had done to you. I had to get you away from it." He frowned. "Captain, are you sure you are... unharmed?"

"As regards that device, yes, Mr. Worf, I believe I am."

Worf nodded, then stepped back to allow the captain to sit up and then, cautiously, get to his feet. As he gave his uniform an instinctive tug Picard noticed the scarred patch on his chest, and then the smears of dried blood on his side. He gave his security chief a startled look. "Worf, whatever happened down there? What about Geordi and the rest of them?"

"I have notified sickbay, sir. Medical attention may be needed." There was an unmistakable glitter of satisfaction in Worf's eyes.

"You had better report there yourself," Picard suggested. "Somebody should see to your arm. And by the way, it seems I broke your nose."

"Data bandaged my arm. And you, sir, have bad phaser burns, a cut on your temple and a number of bruises. We did what we could with the bridge emergency kits."

Data's voice chimed in from the door. "It would appear that sickbay may not be available to us, sir. In fact we seem to be in a state of siege."

The captain frowned. "Explain."

"Computer dependability is still decreasing, sir. It is evident that my efforts are being counteracted, although I have been making some progress lately, probably due to Geordi's removal to sickbay. There has been an attempt to gain access to the bridge via the emergency turbolift which we have been able to discourage."

"We phasered the control panel," Worf put in at a glance from Picard.

"It would seem I have missed quite a lot," commented the captain.

"You were unconscious for almost three hours, sir. I had to use a high setting to make sure you were beyond the reach of that... thing."

"You will be experiencing some aftereffects," said Data. "Injuries like the ones you sustained will in due course lead to a state of shock, resulting in dizzyness, dehydration, a general – "

"Thank you, Data. Just what I needed to know. What about those probes?"

"They report no ships in the vicinity, sir."

"Geordi said something about Cardassians who would be arriving in a few hours."

"Yes, sir. But so far there is no evidence of that. Rational thinking appears to deteriorate once the device has taken hold."

"Well, I'd agree with that. What else have you found?"

"I have been trying to determine the workings of the device, so far with little success. Comparison with the one Lieutenant Worf took off you may help, but I will have to make sure of the computer first. Ship's security must be a priority too. Unfortunately, for reasons I cannot determine the shields the lieutenant tried to seal in place have gone down completely an hour ago. I am still hoping that I will be able to establish an interface between my positronic net and the main computer, but I must proceed with caution in order to make sure the damage does not spread to my own neural pathways. I would not wish to risk malfunction."

The captain frowned. "You need more time. Is that it?"

"Yes, sir," said Data, sounding surprised.

Picard nodded. "Very well. Carry on, Data." He gave himself a small mental shake once his second officer had left. _Just how used have I grown to the idea that there's nothing he can't fix within the minute? He's an android, not a miracle-worker_. Then he noticed Worf still standing by the door, looking considerably the worse for wear, blood drying on his upper lip and chin and adding to the stains on his uniform. With a twinge of conscience he said: "I'm sorry for the damage I inflicted on you, Lieutenant."

Worf's shoulders snapped back. "Do not mention it, Captain." Had that been a gleam of pride? Slightly bemused, Picard circled his desk and sat down behind it. The wound in his chest didn't hurt – they must have given him a fair amount of painkillers – but there was a kind of numbness radiating from it, and even now he was feeling dazed. "What's the situation, Worf?"

"We believe there are growing... differences... between the parties on the ship. An hour ago someone tried unsuccessfully to launch a shuttlecraft. Sickbay appears to be very busy. I have erected forcefields to protect the bridge." He paused for a second. "The group trying to force their way in was quite large."

"I see," said Picard. There wasn't much else to say it seemed. The ship was coming to pieces. "Thank you, Worf. Carry on."

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"I'm fine. I'll join you in a moment."

Worf nodded and left, and Picard pulled himself to his feet and went over to the replicator. "Tea. Earl Grey, hot."

There was the familiar chitter, and a mug materialized. He took it, raised it to his lips, and put it down again with a sudden unaccountable feeling of slight nausea. It was water – _hot_ water. _Oh, no_, he heard himself thinking. He addressed the replicator again. "Water. Cold. A large jug."

The unit chittered and complied. The captain removed the gleaming glass jug and said: "Another."

This time the shimmering was fainter, and it took longer to subside, and when it finally did, there was nothing there. Picard put the jug down on his desk and went out onto the bridge. Data was busy at one of the science stations. Worf was checking, or pretending to check, something on his console which he abandoned the moment the doors swished open.

"I believe the replicators are going," the captain said without preamble.

Worf turned to exchange a look with Data, then he strode down the ramp to the bridge unit. "Water," he growled.

Nothing, not even a chitter.

"That is very unfortunate," Data remarked after a moment of telling silence.

**- - - - - -**

Standing by one of the beds in sickbay, Deanna Troi asked incredulously: "You did _what_? Geordi, you can't mean – you can't have tried to force it on him?"

"Oh, come off it, _Counselor,_" retorted Geordi with a wince of pain. "Yes, thanks, Doctor, I'm quite all right. Just... ow!"

"What happened?"

"Worf knocked me out – almost broke my jaw."

"And stunned him, for good measure," Beverly put in. "Nothing if not thorough. The pain in your abdomen, however, was caused by someone else entirely."

"How do you know?"

"Simple. If Worf had planted his boot in your underbelly you'd be on the surgical table now. Consider yourself lucky."

"Thanks, Doctor. That's _just_ what I needed now."

"We aim to please," said Beverly, flashing him a charming smile. He saw more malice than sympathy there and said sharply: "Look, if you don't like what I was going to do, just say so and have done with it, okay? I can't ask everybody around if they share my opinions."

"Well, now you know for sure that they don't," commented Beverly, selecting a hypospray. "Frankly, I think you were asking for it. And frankly, I'm getting tired of sorting out the mess you people are making of everything. My staff are worked off their feet for no good reason. This wasn't what I had in mind when I said I'd like this department to help people who really need help for a change."

"You're regretting it, Doc, is that what you're saying? Because if you think you'd have better luck with the captain, let me remind you –"

"Let's just say," interrupted Beverly, a distinct edge to her voice, "it's come to my mind a few times lately that Jean-Luc may have his chips on his shoulder, but at least he usually does his thinking before he acts. And he doesn't ask me to pick up the pieces from some brawl every five minutes either."

"And you wouldn't have to waste your precious time on me and my people if we weren't stuck in this cloud because our fine captain has disabled the ship!" shouted Geordi.

"Please," Deanna said, desperately. "Oh, please – "

**- - - - - - -**


	20. Chapter 20

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 19**

"Worf," the captain said after a long silence, twisting round in the command chair. Worf appeared behind the Tactical console. "Sir?"

"How is it going?"

"The main computer is of little use as we cannot trust it, but we are trying to prevent further damage. Data has disassembled one of the devices. He – "

"I am working to determine a way of comparing the two devices, sir," Data's disembodied voice said from behind. "Unfortunately the equipment does not lend itself to this kind of diagnostic work. The sickbay computer would be preferable, but sickbay appears to be very busy. We could not hope to do any undisturbed work there."

"Sir. We might be able to flood sickbay with anesthezine gas," Worf said, sounding excited all of a sudden. "It would give us access to their computer."

"I know. But the place is full of people needing help, Worf," replied the captain. Catching Worf's disappointed expression he added: "Besides, their diagnostic equipment is part of the main computer as well... What do the probes say?"

Worf checked. "No ships in the vicinity, sir."

Picard sighed. "I just hope those things are still reliable. The thought of facing a Cardassian ship in our present condition..."

"It would be disgraceful," growled Worf. "I do not trust any of the crew to react appropriately. I am not even sure the phaser arrays are working. We could barely defend ourselves."

"Let's keep our assignment in mind – we shouldn't have to."

Worf responded with a soft snarl, then pulled himself together. "With all due respect, sir, I prefer a ship in fighting condition." There was a pause, just long enough to make up for the unspoken _And so would you_. "As it is we could neither fight them in space nor hope to repel a boarding party. We have no shields. If that device had had its way," he concluded grimly, "we could not even die with honor."

Picard raised his eyebrows. "Worst-case scenario. I've never known you so defeatist before, Worf."

Worf scowled. "I am not being _defeatist_, Captain."

"You most certainly are. If all you can think of getting out of this situation is a warrior's death you have given up already."

"Klingons do not give up," stated Worf with obvious annoyance at having to remind the captain of something he really should know by now. Picard suppressed a smile.

"Well, in that case you might help me think of a way to handle this if Data doesn't find a means of counteracting that device."

Worf leaned further forward over his console, and Picard sighed. "Down here if at all possible, Lieutenant. This is giving me a stiff neck."

To Picard's relief Worf raised no objections. He merely nodded, strode down the ramp, and lowered himself into Troi's seat. He had evidently been trying to set his appearance to rights, that Klingon vanity finally getting the better of him, but he had been only moderately successful. True, his hair was severely pulled back and gathered into a makeshift and somewhat dishevelled version of his pigtail, and most of the dried blood had vanished from his face. It hadn't vanished from his uniform, however; neither had the ragged gash in his cheek received any treatment, and it was obvious now that his nose was indeed broken. He was looking as tired as Picard had ever seen him. _Keep talking_, the captain thought. _It'll keep him occupied_ – _and me focused_, he added wryly to himself. The sensation of numbness seemed to be spreading, and he was cold, and he had felt his thoughts beginning to drift during the past hour or so. _This won't do_. He could feel Worf studying him while disposing himself in the unaccustomed seat.

"An unusual sight, Lieutenant," he said before Worf could comment on his own ravaged state.

Worf fidgeted, trying to get his bearings, and noticed to his dismay that the chair was very comfortable indeed. It must be difficult for Commander Riker when he was tired. He wondered for a moment why the captain had summoned him, then decided that he must be wanting someone to help him keep alert. He was looking spent Worf thought. _Talk_, said a voice in the back of his mind. _I must keep the captain's attention._ With great deliberation he stated: "It might be possible to deceive the Cardassians. If Data were to take the seat to your right, and I handled communication..."

"If this business is as delicate as Juarez has made it out to be, Gul Dravek won't be talking over the monitors. I wonder... Data, would it be at all possible to operate the transporter from here, and get him directly into my ready room?"

"I would not advise it," Data replied from his station. "It _might_ be accomplished with a ship in full working order. Under the circumstances, the risks would be incalculable."

"I see."

"Sir," said Worf, "should we not consider the ship first? You yourself expressed doubts about this mission. Starfleet would have to understand if we aborted it."

"We'll have to tell the Cardassians _something_, Mr. Worf. We might as well try to save the mission as well as the ship... Could having no shields pass as a gesture of trust, do you think?"

Worf gasped, opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. It was just possible that the captain was having him on. But whether this was a joke (a poor joke, Worf thought reproachfully) or not, the captain had a point. They would have to gloss over the fact that they had no shields. "We might be able to create an illusion," he said without much conviction.

"We know very little about Cardassian sensor technology," Data reminded them from behind. "There is a slim chance that they cannot tell whether or not our shields are operative. However, the possibility that all of this is part of a plot to incapacitate us cannot be wholly discounted. In this case they will expect to find a partially disabled ship, and deceiving them about the state of our defensive systems will be extremely difficult."

"I _said_ so, sir!" Worf broke in. "We cannot trust them. If we cannot restore the ship's battle readiness we should not allow them near us. I suggest making the restoring of the phaser banks a priority."

"Right now, the restoring of my crew is my priority, Mr. Worf. And as for not allowing them near us – I doubt we'd get far in our present state."

"We have no warp drive, and I do not believe the sensors would work even outside the nebula," said Data.

"Phasers would," countered Worf. "Captain, could we at least determine if the self-destruct sequence works?"

And then he blinked in mild surprise as Picard said quietly: "I've done that, Worf. Apparently it does. It's a command function, and for all I know they haven't been able to break into those."

"We might be able to take the Cardassians with us," Worf said with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"Worf, for Heaven's sake, we're not at war with them!" scolded Picard. "It's a last resort before we do something utterly irredeemable. Such as attacking a Cardassian vessel that approaches us in good faith, for example. I only hope they haven't got their hands on the weapons systems."

"It does seem unlikely," Data's voice commented. "However, the crew's attitude regarding the Cardassians being what it appears to be we should be prepared for irrational acts." Worf gave a soft snarl of frustration, but Data continued inexorably: "In fact, once we have established Gul Dravek's bona fides the only course open to us may be to leave this nebula and ask for help, or else to try and reach Starbase 179 at whatever speed we can achieve."

Worf saw Picard close his eyes for a moment at that, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. Concern and exasperation gave his voice a dangerous edge as he asked: "What if we can _not_ establish his bona fides?"

"I do not know," Data replied simply. "There is still a chance that we might be able to _restore the crew_, as the captain put it, before he arrives."

"And if we do not we will be at the mercy of the Cardassians!" snapped Worf. "Forgive me, Captain, I will gladly die defending you and the ship, but I will need the means to do so. This is impossible!"

"We haven't quite reached that stage yet, you know," said Picard, sounding so tired that Worf asked sharply: "Sir, are you _sure_ you would not rather lie down?"

"Quite sure, thank you, Lieutenant."

"We should have enough maneuverability to be able to ram them if necessary. Sir, if we cannot restore phasers and torpedoes, will you allow me to take the conn?"

"That would be the Klingon way, Lieutenant," Data's voice said over a brief chitter from his console. "Rational consideration would suggest a different course."

"I believe determining our defensive capabilities to be quite rational under the circumstances," replied Worf, bristling again.

"Gentlemen, _please_," said Picard. The quiet voice had an instant effect.

"Yes, Captain," Worf said immediately.

Conversation lagged somewhat after that. Worf thought he could see the captain shivering a little. "Sir," he began, tentatively.

"Yes?"

"We could adjust the environmental controls to a slightly higher temperature."

He had fully expected a denial of some sort, but after a moment the captain nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'd appreciate that."

"Commander, would you – "

"I have already effected the necessary changes," Data's voice said from behind. "In fact I believe they might increase Lieutenant Worf's comfort as well."

Worf scowled. "Why?" he demanded.

"You appear to be quite tired. The Klingon metabolism can be expected to react favorably to a higher temperature due to the climatic conditions of the Klingon homeworld. In fact a reasonable approximation could be achieved by a dimming of the lights and a raising of the atmospheric humidity. According to my databases, the atmosphere of the Magh'Rava region on the southernmost continent of Qo'noS, for example – "

"Thank you, Data," Picard said gently. "We're doing fine."

"I am quite comfortable with the lighting on the ship, sir," Worf added rather hastily. Catching an imploring glance from his Chief of Security, Picard changed topics without missing a beat.

"Commander Riker tells me you've adjusted a holodeck program specifically for combat in _human_ daylight."

Worf threw him a grateful look. "Yes, sir. I felt I could use the practice. My people do see best in twilight. We believe that our remote ancestors hunted in the dusk. Even today our eyesight in twilight or darkness is superior to that of humans."

"You're hunters still," said Picard.

"Yes, sir," Worf replied readily, quite pleased to see his strategy working so well. "The ritual hunt is still an important part of our culture. It keeps the spirit and senses – " he frowned briefly – "_honed_, much like the use of archaic weaponry. I believe I told you about it when I taught you the use of the bath'telh."

"I haven't forgotten. Even humans can still appreciate the point."

Worf nodded, remembering that the captain was a fencer himself. After a short silence Picard said: "Worf, did Commander Riker mention what he thought that device had done for him?"

"No," growled Worf. "He was eloquent on what it might do for _me_. He said" – the growl became a snarl – "it might reconcile me to... certain things. I do not wish to be reconciled in this manner. It is things that would have to change, not myself."

_Dear God_, Picard found himself thinking – not because the statement held any surprises for him but because that much, from Worf, amounted to a baring of the soul. And now Worf said, chin raised in a very Klingon gesture of defiance: "A warrior faces both misfortune and failure. He overcomes them or is overcome. He acknowledges his part in them and does not look for easy ways out."

A little startled, Picard turned in his chair. "Worf, what are you blaming yourself for _this_ time?"

"Sir?" asked Worf, alarmed.

"That sounded like a note of self-reproach."

"I was merely stating my intention to remain true to my chosen duty, no matter what excuses or _distractions_ I am offered. A Klingon does not forget his loyalties, even though others may forget theirs."

Picard gave him a quizzical look. "Intriguing," said Data's voice from behind before he could answer. "It appears that a duty considered pleasurable before by large parts of the crew is now perceived to stand in the way of the individual's attaining the desired goal. In this case, would the saying that the grass always appears greener on the other side apply?"

The captain smiled at that. "That was rather brilliant, Data."

"Thank you, sir," said Data, pleased. Worf threw an annoyed look back over his shoulder. "They are fools to allow themselves to be swayed by the lure of an illusion. A duty should not be chosen lightly, and once chosen should not be set aside."

"A ship of fools," the captain said softly, almost to himself.

"Sir?"

"A very old Terran conceit," Data's voice supplied helpfully. "The ship of fools is a metaphor of the world, the idea being to expose human vices and follies by personifying them, and to effect a cure by inducing self-knowledge and the acknowledgement of fallibility. Chief among the follies..."

"Not now, Data!" sighed the captain.

"No, sir," Data said readily, if slightly puzzled.

"How are those probes doing?"

"They report no ships in the vicinity, sir."

Picard nodded as if he hadn't been expecting anything else, and leaned back in his chair. At his station, Data processed a new piece of information. The art of nonrelevant conversation, its nonrelevance notwithstanding, was less easily mastered than it would appear. A new subroutine was called for, which he created while cautiously tackling an evident trap placed in the software. It bore the hallmark of Geordi's programming, and he had discovered earlier that removing them could set off other, more sophisticated traps. A human, he knew, would experience hurt feelings at this sign of focused disloyalty. He wondered what they felt like.

**- - - - - -**


	21. Chapter 21

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 20**

"I'm frightened, Will. I don't know what to do."

Deanna Troi was sitting on the sofa in Riker's quarters, hands clasped between her knees, her face a little drawn as if in pain, or expecting pain to set in any moment. Riker was pacing, up and down the length of his living room.

"It's as if I couldn't sense things any more. All I'm reading is this frightful tension. Aggression and frustration, just on the brink of violence. Mental snarling. You can't _imagine_... And I don't know what's the matter with me. It started out so well, and now I'm deaf to anything but this..." She cleared her throat with a determined effort. "I've asked Beverly if the device could be impairing my empathic abilities. She said I always thought of my empathic abilities as the be-all and end-all, I might consider that other people have other priorities. She was on the point of screaming at me, Will."

Riker turned on his heel with a brief, sharp sigh, opening his mouth to reply, and Troi's eyes grew wide with apprehension; then he shut it again. After a few moments he said: "I don't think it's anything to do with you, Deanna."

"_You_ were going to say something unkind just now," she said very quietly.

"I was." He took a few deep breaths. "I won't, though. I was going to say something about having better things to do than worry about what you're sensing. And you would have sensed more of the same. Correct?"

She nodded, giving him a tiny tremulous smile that never got past the corners of her mouth, and Riker gave a brief snort of laughter in his turn. "It's not funny. I was going to be an absolute jerk. I'll never know what I've done to deserve you. Listen, Deanna. For all I know you're sensing precisely what's happening here. I've been in more rows and yelled at more people in the last twenty-four hours than ever before in my life. I've tried to sort out things in Engineering again and lost my temper; I've found Singh and asked him to try and get some order into this mess, and we ended up shouting at each other. Nobody's listening, nobody's doing their job. Everybody's having some grand idea of their own. Too bad there's only one ship between us."

Troi looked up quickly, on the point of saying something, but Riker wasn't finished.

"And there's worse. You know Storgat – the big Bolian from Astrophysics? He's been getting together with Céline Cavour. From what I heard they were going to make it official. Well, that guy Ferguson didn't like it. Apparently he'd convinced himself she had a crush on him."

"And?" said Troi, her eyes widening again.

"So he went for Storgat with a Klingon-style disruptor – pinched from Worf's quarters, by the looks of it. Storgat's in sickbay, but Beverly doesn't think he'll make it. It's the stasis chambers she says – thanks to all this messing around with the computer _their_ equipment isn't working properly either, you see."

"I never noticed. How could that happen?" whispered Troi.

"Worf hasn't been around. He's having the time of his life playing samurai to the captain – at least he was when I last saw him, and I hope to God he's still at it. One man on this damn ship doing his damn job," Riker finished through clenched teeth.

"That's not what I meant," said Troi, her voice shaking.

"No, 'course not – I'm sorry. But I don't think you _could_ have noticed – not with all the aggression floating around. I've had it with this whole infernal mess, everybody going off into the bright blue yonder and nobody getting anywhere. I've been ranting about the welfare of the crew, and now I can't keep people from being hurt. All I want is to get some sense and order into this and get on with things, and I can't do that either. Instead I've got a wire device that's supposed to work wonders for me if I'll just stop caring. Well, I can't," Riker concluded, finally dropping into a chair opposite her.

"But this isn't how it was meant to be at all. Everybody should be more contented now. Instead – " She fought down a surge of tears. "They feel trapped I think, and they feel the others are in their way. But _you_ don't, do you?"

"No," he said thoughtfully. "At least... well, I just want things to work, and I want them to help me make it so. But – " another snort – "I've a feeling _they_ just want _me_ to help them with whatever it is _they_ happen to fancy, so I s'pose I'm not acting all that different from the rest. And meanwhile this ship is going to hell."

"That's it," Deanna said abruptly.

Riker frowned. "_What_'s it?"

"The ship." She looked across into his face, her own a little less desolate all of a sudden. "I should have known. It's what you want, isn't it? The place where you're happy and at home. The place you want to be. You of all the people on this ship should be feeling that you are getting somewhere."

"No," said Riker. It came out sharply, with a trace of impatience. "I'm not. In fact – " He reached up and pulled the device loose from where it was sitting, grimacing for a moment. "D'you know that I'm feeling the exact opposite? That I'm not getting anywhere? Hell, I've _lost_ something on the way. Don't get me wrong, it felt great at first. But by now it feels..." He hesitated, then said: "Sick."

"Will, who did this to you?"

"Nobody. Nothing to do with you, Deanna. It's just..." He hesitated again, searching for the words. "I feel empty," he said at last, soberly. "Like... look, have you ever been given the wrong gift as a child? Something somebody thought should please you? And it didn't? Perhaps because you didn't like whoever gave it to you, or you had outgrown that phase, or it was just wrong – so wrong it insulted you? My father once gave me a model starship kit when I was about twelve. I'd wanted one for ages, but at the time I knew at once it was to get me off my music. I hated it, and it made me feel rotten – took me ages to get that foul taste out of my mouth. That's how I feel right now. That thing – it's just not right. It's like an unkept promise. Everything I know now, I've known before, and to get it I've acted like a bastard and an idiot. I just feel... well, rotten."

"I wish I could help," said Troi, miserably.

"You can." He caught her suddenly hopeful look and gave her a wry grin. "You can go to your quarters and ask the replicator for some hot chocolate or valerian tea or even hot milk and nutmeg – who knows, with a little luck you'll even get one of them. And then you can try to get some rest. You could do with it, and I'd feel much better. I haven't been much help so far."

"What about you?" she inquired.

"Frankly, I wish I knew. I may just stop feeling sorry for myself, and do some thinking for a change."

**- - - - - -**

"Sir."

"Yes, Worf?"

"You should rest. You are not well at all."

"I'm well enough." Silently, Picard chided himself for having allowed his attention to drift again. "You were saying?"

"I was not speaking, Captain."

_Damn_. He pulled himself together, deliberately disengaging his mind from his aching body and the cold numbness that seemed to have settled on every thought and movement. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, low and hoarse. He realized he was terribly thirsty. _Where have I been the last two hours? _

"Worf," he said carefully, painfully, "there's a jug of water on my desk – "

"I will fetch it," Worf said immediately, almost on his feet already.

"No! That wasn't what I meant. Just that it's there if you want it." He gripped the armrests and pulled himself out of his chair. Somewhat to his relief, the dizziness was bearable, even if the floor seemed to be sinking away from beneath his feet – as if something had happened to the artificial gravity of the ship. He entered his ready room, looking round for the jug he had put away hours earlier, and poured himself some water, only to find himself shuddering with the cold of it when he swallowed. It _was_ cold in here, he realized, noticeably colder than outside; for a moment he wondered if Data had been raising the temperature on the bridge again. Then all of a sudden the whooping of the red alert siren shattered the silence, and he put the mug down on his desk without thinking and shot out onto the bridge. "Data, what's the matter?"

"I beg your pardon, sir." Data was standing by the chair he had been occupying for hours, looking apologetic. Worf, the captain noted, was halfway up the ramp. "It appears that my efforts to regain control of the deflector systems have set off an alarm due to some malfunction. There is no cause for apprehension."

Worf's snarl was audible five steps away. Picard fell into his chair as the deck suddenly seemed to tilt beneath him, closing his eyes until the nausea had passed. "It's all right," he said, hoping against hope that Worf wouldn't pursue the matter. "At least the alarm is working."

"I would appreciate it if this _malfunction_ did not occur again, Commander," stated Worf. There was a hint of breathlessness in his voice, and a rasp that showed clearly just how thin his patience had worn. Unoffended, Data replied: "I will bear that in mind. However, the possibility of another false alarm cannot be ruled out entirely. I am still obliged to remove the safeguards that have been – "

"This," hissed Worf, "is unbearable. Sir, if – "

"Worf," said the captain.

There was a moment of tense silence, then he heard the chair to his left creak slightly as the Klingon sat down again. _For Heaven's sake_, thought Picard,_ find something to say_.

"How are you doing, Data?"

"I am making progress with the main computer, sir. I have been able to retrieve a large amount of data pertaining to crew brain scans that appear to be uncontaminated. They will help me find a way to counteract the device. As regards ship's functions, I have made the raising of the shields a priority. I believe shields are operative again, if at thirty-one point four percent only. Circumstances have forced me to improvise, and I have written a program rerouting the necessary power from the science departments' equipment. I am currently in the process of reactivating the starboard computer core. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to bypass Geordi's programming in order to activate the self-correct function without setting off any of the traps placed in the routine."

"I see," said Picard, trying to concentrate as the words were slipping past him.

"I am expecting workable results from the devices in about two hours. The data gathered so far is quite fascinating. It appears that the device not only adapts to the brainwave pattern of the individual but analyzes the DNA as well, thus determining the species, and proceeds according to its findings."

"I see," the captain said again. "Data, what about the probes?"

"They report no ships in the vicinity, sir."

"_Damn_ them," whispered Picard. Worf's head snapped round. For a moment, there had been a despairing crack in the captain's voice, but it was gone a second later. "I shouldn't be complaining," said Picard, hoarsely, but with the ghost of a smile. "At this rate, Data will have the ship up and running when they arrive."

"If not," stated Worf with utter seriousness, "I will die defending you."

"Worf," said the captain patiently, despite the fact that his head was aching and despite a feeling that they had been at this juncture a dozen times before, "I know your principles, and I respect them, as you very well know. But I would much prefer you to survive. So, no heroics. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the Klingon replied. Picard had the distinct impression that he might as well have saved his breath. _Die defending me indeed. Nobody is going to die on this ship if I can help it_. But there was a catch in his throat nevertheless.

Worf got to his feet and went back to his console, to check the forcefield protecting the bridge and make sure of the two phasers concealed in the locker underneath. For all the strain and the desperation there was something glorious, something flawlessly right and appropriate to this. For once, he was, and would be, where he should be. For once, his duties and instincts and loyalties all pulled in one direction. It was perfect, down to the captain's protest. _As you should, Captain. And I shall do as I should_.

The forcefields, he noticed with a brief nod of satisfaction, were still in place.

**- - - - - -**

Deanna Troi roused herself to answer the door alarm after the third ring. Whoever was out there obviously wasn't going away. "Come in," she called, getting up from the sofa and trying not to sound as drained and dispirited as she felt. The door opened to reveal a burly, bearded man in a science uniform. She had to cast around for a couple of seconds before the name came back to her. Rickett. Lieutenant Rickett of Stellar Cartography. Not an officer she saw much of in the course of her duties.

A moment later she sensed the turmoil in the man. It hit her like a wave, a desperate incredulity that made the frustration and suspicion and anger that were thick in the air fade into insignificance. She groped behind her for support, any support, finding the back of a chair. _I can't take any more of this_, a voice said in her mind. _I can't_.

"You've got to listen to me, Counselor," Rickett said while the door closed in his back. The voice was low and breathless, and the incredulous dismay she sensed from him almost made her stagger. "I know this'll sound crazy to you, but I've killed somebody. I've just killed Lieutenant Benedetto."

Deanna stared. There was no doubt about this. He might be mistaken – he might still be mistaken, but this was no fantasy – and no attempt at deceiving her either. He believed what he was saying. She found herself shaking. After a couple of seconds she managed to ask: "How did that happen?" – not because she wanted to know but because she couldn't just stand there, staring at Rickett.

"I don't know. That is, I do. I hit him. He got to me. You see," said Rickett with a determined matter-of-factness that clashed wildly with the emotions she sensed from him, "he was all over the place with that way he had, bullying people. Showing everybody. He had this thing about really being Command material. I _knew_ that, but it seemed worse than usual. And then he started picking on Hussein, of all people, and I thought I just wasn't going to let him do that. He took it badly. He went for me – I'd known he would. I wanted him to, in a way. I'd been thinking, well, about time that guy tries tackling something as big as he. And when he came on I caught him on the side of the head, and he went down. I thought he'd get up, but he didn't. Counselor, I wanted to teach that guy a lesson. I really did. But I didn't want that to happen! I didn't realize I'd hit him as hard as that. I... It's a stupid question I know, but what do I do now?"

"I don't know," Troi whispered. "Perhaps... perhaps he isn't dead. Did you inform sickbay?"

Rickett nodded. And then, without warning, something snapped. "I want it to stop," said Deanna, her voice breaking. "I just want this to... to stop. I can't handle it, I just can't, I _can't_." And with that she collapsed into a chair and started crying hysterically, face hidden in her hands, shoulders heaving, sobbing, almost screaming with anguish.

"Counselor," said Lieutenant Rickett, dropping to his knees by her side in dismay, "Counselor, please – "

**- - - - - -**

The bridge was very quiet.

Worf was sitting with his back against the Tactical console, one knee drawn up against his chest, a phaser within easy reach. Picard had settled back into the command chair, eyes closed in sheer exhaustion. Only Data was moving, his hands operating keys, his eyes darting from side to side – fast, but not by any means as fast as he could have worked. The two devices were wired into a tricorder lying nearby, and information was accumulating slowly while Data divided his attention between the fluctuating readings from the probes and his efforts to stabilize the main computer. Some of the data scrolling over the screen was corrupt, some was disinformation; some might be either, or it might be valid. He had given up the idea of a direct interface hours earlier.

Worf was thinking about ways and means of saving the ship, or at least his captain, from the disgraceful mess the device had caused; but he found his thoughts going round in circles, and no solution presented itself. Take a shuttle out of the nebula, contact Starfleet, and ask for help? Unthinkable, even if it could be done – he was under no illusions whom the captain would choose for the task, but he, Worf, would not leave the ship for anything. Perhaps Data could restore the engines – but again, they could not safely leave the nebula. The Cardassians might be out there, and it might still have been a Cardassian plot. Lure the _Enterprise_ into a location out of sensor range and out of contact, disable the crew, then turn up and take the ship over. The captain would destroy her first – if the self-destruct sequence still worked. And they were running out of time; the Cardassians would arrive, or someone would appear on the bridge and cause trouble, and he must protect the ship, and the captain...

He woke with a start when he felt his left leg, which had gone to sleep, itching savagely. Instinctively, his hand closed around the phaser lying by his side. Then self-consciousness set in. Fortunately Data was still working away at his station, his back to the Tactical console. Worf got to his feet, tugged his uniform into place and took a quick, annoyed look round. He was feeling foggy with weariness himself, and he didn't like the way the captain was slumped back in his chair. Frowning, he made his way down the ramp.

Picard started as he felt his officer bending over him. "Yes, Worf?"

"You are shaking, sir."

"It's just aftereffects. It doesn't matter." But it did matter he knew. He had tried to pace earlier, feeling that the enforced inactivity of the past hours was driving him insane, and after a very few steps had found the dizziness and nausea too much for him.

"Sir. You have been nearly asleep. You might as well sleep where you can get some rest."

Picard shook his head and sat up, turning in the direction of Data's console. "How is it going, Data?"

"I have established a method of gaining information from the devices, sir," replied Data, swiveling his chair to face him. "I am currently comparing the readings from both in order to determine the changes that took place once the second one was locking on to your brainwaves. The resulting data will provide me with material which can then be used to establish its workings, and devise countermeasures. Unfortunately I have to run extensive checks on all results. I believe I have stabilized the main computer, if at a low level of efficiency. Some of the forcefields protecting the bridge have collapsed. About half an hour ago life support was beginning to fail in a number of locations all over the ship. I have rerouted energy from – "

"So we are open to attack?" interrupted Worf, who had been fidgeting through most of this.

"In theory, yes. However, since only one of the turbolifts remains functional, and since most of the crew appear – "

"Which turbolift?"

Data gave him a look of mild surprise. "The forward one, Mr. Worf."

"You might have told me!" snapped Worf, exasperated.

"I would have noticed any attempt to use this turbolift immediately."

"It is my duty to attend to these things," Worf replied rather pointedly.

"But you were asleep," said Data.

"I was not _asleep_," snarled Worf.

"All signs indicated that you were, Lieutenant. Considering that – "

Worf's voice rose. "Sir, with all due respect, I would – "

"Oh, for Heaven's sake – !" exploded Picard, his voice cracking on the last word.

There was a brief, shocked silence. _Damn you, Jean-Luc, pull yourself together. This is not the moment to be losing control_. "I'm sorry," he said, a little unsteadily. "This waiting is getting to me. It won't happen again."

"Sir," said Data, and Picard choked down a sigh. "Yes, Data?"

"Considering the fact that both you and Lieutenant Worf have been on duty for many hours, and that neither of you is in prime condition, it might be beneficial if you were to take some sustenance. You might both feel the better for it, and it would help you maintain a state of alertness."

"Possibly," Worf said somewhat guardedly.

"There is a supply of emergency rations in the bridge lockers," prompted Data.

Worf gave a brief nod. "I know," he said, then added, almost as an afterthought: "Sir." After another moment he opened a locker, took a couple of packages, and made his way down the ramp.

"Do you wish for one of those, sir?"

"No, thank you. Really, I'm not hungry."

Truth be told, he was feeling too ill to be able to eat anything at all, and the mere thought of those emergency rations made him feel queasy. Worf, however, started on his with obvious appetite and by all appearances even with relish. The captain avoided looking in his direction, watching the main viewer with its endlessly shifting pattern instead. He felt himself beginning to drift again when Worf's voice forced itself into his consciousness once more.

"I will try to fetch you some tea, sir."

"But the replicator isn't working," he managed, not sure if Worf could even hear him. From somewhere to the left he heard the basso voice rumble, sternly: "_qIjDargh_. Hot."

Rather to Picard's surprise the unit did react. There was a chirp, then the familiar whirring sound and a grunt of satisfaction. A few seconds later Worf brought him a conical, ribbed mug of distinctly Klingon design.

"It is the closest thing to black tea we have, sir."

The beverage _was_ black – not black as tea, but black as strong coffee. He felt Worf watching him as he took a cautious sip. The taste was bitter, slightly tarry and, to his palate, distinctly medicinal. It didn't matter at this stage. The brew was hot, warming his hands, and he was shivering uncontrollably now. He was parched too, and as he sat sipping he realized that his mind was clouding, the sights and sounds of his bridge fading out for seconds at a time, then clearing again.

"Sir," said Worf's voice, sounding quite gentle now, "you truly cannot go on."

_He's right, of course. I'm much too tired to be of any use here._

"Very well," he said. "I'll get some rest." He dragged himself out of his chair, and the moment he was on his feet a wave of black vertigo washed over him. The captain staggered, watching the darkness closing in on his field of vision, his mind noting quite matter-of-factly _I shouldn't have left it so long_ – and a second later felt Worf's steadying hand under his elbow. As if from a very great distance he heard the voice say: "Come, sir." Afterwards he would find that he couldn't quite remember how he had managed to cross the distance between the command center and his ready room, but he did recall lying back on his sofa, if only because, mercifully, the feeling of nausea ebbed away. He could sense, rather than see, Worf hovering next to him. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine," he murmured, his mind adding: _Well,_ a_t least I didn't faint on my own bridge.._. He closed his eyes and yielded to the blackness that came crashing down upon him.

Outside on the bridge Data, his fingers never pausing, said to Worf: "I have accessed my databases on Klingon language and culture, Lieutenant, and I believe that _qIjDargh_ tea is supposed to have a soothing effect. In fact, it features in Klingon medicine for that reason."

"That is true," Worf confirmed while checking his console.

"In that case, should it not be regarded with caution? Klingon physiology is considerably more robust than the human one."

"There are certain physiological differences," Worf agreed matter-of-factly. "If you will excuse me, sir, I believe the forward phaser bank is coming on-line again. I would like to run a check on it."

**- - - - - -**

Commander William Riker was sitting on the sofa in his quarters, hands between his knees, turning the device over and over in his fingers.

He had been sitting there for some time now, trying to get some order into things. Trying to sort out memories that seemed oddly elusive now, to remember the feelings of – just how long had it been? Not long, he knew that much – a day? Two? Strange, though, how harsh and clear other things were looking to his mind all of a sudden, how _real_ – the memories of all the choices he had made in his life, open-eyed and deliberately, and of all the roads not travelled.

What had been their names, again?

_Drake_. _Aries_. _Melbourne_.

_Enterprise_.

Captain William Riker of the Starship _Enterprise_. The man who had saved the Federation – and if he hadn't by any means saved it single-handedly and if in fact one word, one single word there had been between triumph and utter failure, and it hadn't been spoken by him – well, that needn't distract from his accomplishment if he didn't want it to. It had been up to him to make the most of it.

He had attained everything he had ever dreamed about, and more. The only one who could ever again raise doubts about his abilities, his courage, his sheer heroism was Will Riker himself.

And what had he done?

He had been standing in a small room off the _Enterprise_'s main sickbay, looking down on the ravaged face of a man who could not hear him, and saying, very softly, so as not to be heard by anybody else either: "I want you to get well again, sir."

Later his own lack of doubt had surprised him a little. He had every right in the world to be ambitious, to expect something in return, and nothing to prove – certainly not his loyalty. And anyway, there had been nobody there to convince. The captain had been heavily drugged after many hours of surgery.

A man who still said that sort of thing plainly wasn't cut out to be captain of the _Enterprise_. Much the way that Captain Picard plainly wasn't cut out to be an admiral. And William Riker grinned to himself. _You dare berate me once again for not thinking of my career, sir, and I'll tell you something about yours. How many times did you have the chance to make admiral? Let me think, now..._

To give him his due, the captain had never broached the issue again after that. A ship full of damn idiots who didn't know what was good for them, in short. Riker looked down on the device, frowning. _I didn't really need this stupid thing to tell me what I want in life, did I? Well, I'd better try and do something about this horrible mess..._

He would go to sickbay first, though, and have Beverly give him something for the headache pounding savagely behind his eyes.

**- - - - - -**


	22. Chapter 22

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 21**

Picard started up groggily to find both Worf and Data standing by his sofa. He sat up, pushing the blanket aside and trying to get his bearings. At least he was feeling less dazed. "Yes, gentlemen? What is it?"

"Sir," said Data, holding out a padd to him, "I cannot guarantee that this will neutralize the device completely and universally. However, I believe our best chance is to make the attempt now as something appears to be heading for our coordinates."

The captain's eyes widened. "The Cardassian ship?"

"So it would seem. The probes' sensors are degenerating, and the damage to the main computer must be taken into account as well. Someone is definitely approaching, however, and they will be arriving in rather less than seven hours."

"I see. What have you come up with?"

"A formula," replied Data. "Counselor Troi was quite correct when she told you that the device provides its user with an interface, so to speak, between the conscious and the subconscious. Once the first analysis is complete the device starts emitting electromagnetic impulses. They act on the brain's synaptic functions and the production of neurotransmitters. These in turn activate the production of stimulants and naturally occurring drugs, such as adrenaline and endorphines, among them – "

"Data, please," Picard interrupted. "I'm sure it's fascinating, but I'm not a neurospecialist. How do you fight it?"

"The substance described here should stimulate the production of certain inhibitors, thus blocking the neurotransmitters and reducing the synaptic functions. It is a crude but hopefully effective way of achieving a reversal of the device's effect on the brain. However, the substance will have to be very carefully manufactured, and for this purpose we will need sickbay after all, sir. It should then be released into the ventilation system. I have stabilized life support – it will be impossible to stop the effect once the vapor is spreading through the ship."

"I'm looking forward to reading your report on all of this. Data, is there any danger to my crew in what you are proposing?"

"There will be side-effects, Captain. The reduction of the synaptic functions will result in a general slowing down of reflexes. Convulsions and respiratory paralysis cannot be ruled out entirely, although the danger is inconsiderable from a statistical point of view. It is, however, very likely that most individuals will experience intense headaches, feelings of nausea and similar symptoms. I should also like to point out that the wearer's system will have grown used to the effects, and on experiencing a decline in the concentration of stimulants the user may well experience severe depression. The device is a highly sophisticated piece of equipment that adapts to the individual wearing it. I would have liked to match its degree of specialization, but in order to schieve this I would have needed both more time and the sickbay computer. Our response will have to be crude by necessity."

"I see," said Picard. "Data, did I get that right – we can neutralize the effects of the device that way, but we can't get rid of its potential to cause trouble?"

"That is correct, sir. After the initial reactions most of your crew will be restored to what might be called their normal state of mind, if considerably the worse for wear, to use the vernacular. It is possible that the devices once used will be incapable of adapting once again. But the decision of whether or not to try it will be up to the individual. I believe that the number of people attempting this straight away will be negligible – I gather the immediate effect of putting it on is quite unpleasant. Few people are likely to risk it when already experiencing a severe headache. In the long term, however, I cannot predict what will happen."

"I see," Picard said again. A tiny pause. "Now, as to the question of who goes down there."

"I volunteer, Captain," Worf said immediately. "Data will have to remain here to handle the ship in case I fail. He has instructed me what to do. I am not familiar with the handling of drugs." He had the grace to avoid the captain's eyes when he said it. Picard never missed a beat.

"Very well. I don't see much of an alternative," he said, getting to his feet and briefly glancing down the list of elements on the padd's screen. "Try to avoid relying on the main computer. There's a small measuring unit in the laboratory that is not connected to the main system. We'll hold the fort till then." Worf watched with narrowed eyes as the captain reached for his own phaser, ready to hand on his desk, and checked the setting. There was no sign of weariness now that a possible course of action had opened up. Picard looked up to address the intercom. "Computer, extend all command functions to Lieutenant Worf."

It chittered. "Transfer complete."

"Good luck, Lieutenant," said Picard, seemingly without noticing the near-incredulous look his Chief of Security was giving him.

Worf nodded curtly, took the small padd Picard held out to him, and in his turn checked the phaser he was wearing rather conspicuously on his hip. "Do not worry about me, Captain. They will not be prepared for this. I will shut off sickbay with forcefields, and I will not allow anybody to detain me."

"I know you won't."_ Once more upon the breach, my friend, once more_. "Make it so," the captain said quietly.

The turbolift hesitated alarmingly as Worf stepped in and told it to take him to the _Enterprise_'s main sickbay, but finally it started to move. He felt for his phaser again, running through the options in his mind. There were precious few of them. No matter. _Extend all command functions to Lieutenant Worf_, he thought, stunned and elated in equal measure. His captain had put everything – _everything_ – into his hands without a second's hesitation. _I will not fail_, he thought just as the turbolift stopped.

There were people about on Deck twelve, some of whom gasped and froze on recognizing him, all of whom got out of his way. Worf ignored them. He strode into sickbay, prepared for more agitation, but the place was quieter than he had expected it to be. Quite a number of the beds in the primary ward seemed to be occupied, but there were few medical staff about, and from what he could tell they appeared busy enough. Some looked up, giving him brief and slightly nervous looks. Most barely took notice of him. These, he concluded, must be the sickbay personnel who _hadn't_ abandoned their post. He was still looking round, trying to establish a strategy of some sort, when he heard a sound behind his back. Turning quickly, he found himself face to face with Beverly Crusher who had just emerged from the door of her office. She was looking tired he noted, tired and pinched and a little harassed, and her hair was tousled as if she had raked it back too often, with one red strand entangled in the device she still wore. She took one look at him and said: "Dear God."

"Doctor?" said Worf, momentarily taken aback.

"Come with me. Don't tell me – I don't want to know the details. It seems I have my work cut out for me."

"I do not require help. I require the sickbay computer," replied Worf, incurably honest.

"What?" said Beverly, sharply.

_I will explain later_, Worf thought as he drew his phaser and fired. It was set to medium stun. Beverly Crusher staggered back against the transparent wall of her office and collapsed. Worf retreated quickly into the ward and found two of the medics looking at him with tired, blankly bewildered expressions from the other end of the room. Crushing a surge of anger at an invention that reduced a Starfleet sickbay to this he walked across the room and out the back door which closed obligingly behind him.

Once past he drew a breath of relief. So far things had worked out. He could hear voices coming from the entrance to the main patient ward, and a moment later a nurse emerged. The man stopped in his tracks on noticing him, and the phaser in his hand, opened his mouth, hesitated, and then turned and vanished back to where he had come from without a word. Keeping a wary eye on the entrance, Worf said quickly: "Computer, establish forcefields to seal off this section from all corridors and all patient wards."

The ensuing delay sent a brief stab of apprehension through him, but a moment later he caught the brief glitter of the forcefields settling into place. Noting with a certain appreciation that the android had evidently stabilized computer functions, he looked round. The laboratory must be somewhere to his right. He was about to examine the nearest door when a movement caught from the corner of his eye made him whip round. From the doorway behind his back Commander Riker came striding towards him, looking both dishevelled and determined. Instinctively, Worf raised his phaser, then changed his mind, falling into a battle crouch instead.

"Worf! Wait!"

But Lieutenant Worf, the fate of his ship in his hands, didn't take any chances. He lashed out with his free hand, and the fist crashed into Riker's chin, sending him hurtling backwards a few steps before he came down, hard, on his back and lay still.

Worf stared down on Riker's unmoving form, and something in the back of his mind said succinctly: _I am getting tired of this_. But there was something calling for his attention now. He frowned, trying to concentrate, realizing for the first time just how tired he was. Something was not as expected. Something like...

The device.

Riker was not wearing the device.

It needn't mean anything. But then –

What had he said on turning up? _Wait_?

Worf threw a hasty glance back over his shoulder before he knelt by Riker's side. "Commander," he said, gripping his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Commander!"

Riker groaned. Worf was considering getting a hypospray when the first officer opened his eyes, looking up at him blearily. "What the hell – " he croaked. There was a trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth.

"I have no time to explain. Get up." He gripped Riker's arm as he spoke, hoisting him up. Riker groaned again as he staggered to his feet, groping for support. "What the hell d'you mean by it, Worf? What are you _doing_ down here? Christ, you're looking a mess."

Worf frowned, momentarily distracted. "I am _not_ – " he began, indignantly, and then he happened to look down, noticing the copious amounts of dried blood on his tunic and sash and the tangled strands of hair hanging about his shoulders. The reactions of his fellow crew members were beginning to make some sense. He straightened, more indignant than before. "What are _you_ doing here, Commander?"

"Getting a minute's rest, for what it's worth. I've a headache that's – "

"What happened to your device?" Worf demanded.

"Left it in my quarters, and good riddance. Look, I must see the captain – now."

Worf's eyes narrowed. "You left it in your _quarters_?"

"Yes, Worf, I did," said Riker sharply. "I'm sick of the damn thing. You were right about it, and the captain was right about it, and if it's all right with _you_, I'd like to speak with him."

"Later." Worf looked round for the laboratory door, spotted it, and strode purposefully through. There was a small console in one corner, with mountings for a number of containers. He crossed the distance in three or four strides, looked it over and gave the activate button a jab. The thing sprang to life, flashing empty panels underneath each mounting. Worf gave an involuntary sigh of relief. From behind his shoulder Riker snapped: "What's that supposed to mean? Look, this ship's in a – "

"Commander." Worf pivoted. "We must produce the substance decribed here and distribute it over the ventilation system. It will counteract the device. I do not have the time to answer questions. I need your help _now_."

"Hasn't taken you long to get used to acting first officer, has it?" Riker shot back.

There was a moment's silence. Then Worf straightened. "My apologies, Commander. I was out of line."

"Oh, Christ," said Riker, massaging his chin. "Forget it. I asked for it. But as of right now you'll count me in, got it? I take it Data's come up with this. What's the situation?"

"I do not know," Worf replied tensely. "The captain is not well, and – "

"Why?" Riker asked sharply.

"Phaser wounds." There really was no time to go into lengthy explanations now. Worf could feel Riker's shocked glance, and then a mounting rage. "Who did that?"

"I will tell you later. There is a ship approaching."

"Damn. Let's have a look at this. Right, Worf, you go and get all this stuff – it should be over there somewhere. Meanwhile I'll try and sort out this unit. Unless, of _course_, you've a better idea."

Worf gave him one eloquent look before turning on his heel and heading for the storeroom Riker had indicated. The first officer rubbed his temples, grimaced, and bent over the unit. _Now let's just hope this thing works the way I think it works. Looks like this is where you enter your quantities and that's where you tell it –_

From the adjoining room he heard the crash of canisters and a snarl of frustration. "Worf!" he called out. "Don't ruin the place, man!" With a sigh of relief he saw the specifics coming up on the little console. _Vapor_. Application: _Shipwide_. Excepting the bridge. Riker pressed more buttons. Wasn't this how Doctor Crusher had occasionally effected a hyronalin treatment? What was Worf _doing_ in there, anyway?

Worf appeared about two minutes later, carrying a number of small containers on a tray. "Some of these required a senior officer's authorization," he explained, putting the tray down. Riker extended his hand for the first container.

"You locked that cabinet again, I suppose?"

"I... secured it," said Worf, and Riker correctly concluded that there hadn't been much of a lock left on it.

"I just hope this'll work. There, you can pass me the next one."

"I hope so too," Worf replied pointedly. "This is a curare derivative."

Riker stared. "How do _you_ know?"

"It is my duty to be informed about substances as dangerous as this."

"Great," muttered Riker, gingerly fitting the container in place. "Isn't there some function built into this thing that'll tell you when a procedure is not recommended? Next one."

Sweat was beading the first officer's forehead when he slammed the last container into its mountings, and transferred the quantities from the padd to the console. "There. Activate. That's it. Now let's just get out of here – if this doesn't work I'd like to be on the bridge when we find out."

"I will secure this room first."

Riker nodded briefly. "Right, just in case."

The turbolift caused no difficulties once Worf had instructed it curtly to grant the first officer access to the bridge. Riker didn't offer a comment on the Klingon's use of the command functions, or at least none beyond one long look. "Data may have found the malfunction," Worf said matter-of-factly when the car began to move without delay. Then the door swished open. Riker took one step through it and froze.

"Don't move, Will," said a familiar and very calm voice, and the first officer found himself looking, incredulously, into his captain's steady eyes over the emitter of a phaser aimed straight at his chest.

He just stood there for a couple of seconds, looking blank. Then the rest of the captain's appearance struck home. Picard was white as chalk, with deep shadows under his eyes and a shadow of stubble covering his chin and cheeks, and the lines in his face looked harsher than usual. As he took him in Riker noticed the cut on his temple, and the scarred patch on the chest of his uniform tunic, and a moment later the discolored stains and streaks on the side. _Dried blood_, he thought, disbelievingly. "Captain – "

"It's nothing, Will." Picard had evidently noticed what he was staring at. "It's – " He hesitated, by all appearances slightly embarrassed. "Actually, it's not my blood."

Riker swallowed. "Sir, are you sure you – "

A moment later he jumped as Data's voice said, almost at his elbow: "He is not carrying a weapon, sir," and after another second's scrutiny Picard lowered the phaser. Riker drew a deep breath and started again. "Sir, for Heaven's – "

"The commander joined me in sickbay, Captain," said Worf, appearing behind Riker and gently shoving him out of the way in order to leave the turbolift himself. As the Klingon walked past him, Riker caught a very softly muttered "I _am_ getting tired of this."

"_You_ are getting tired of this?" blurted Riker. "When _you_ were the one who socked – " Then, all of a sudden, his eyes narrowed, intrigued. "Hey," he demanded abruptly, "who broke your nose?"

Worf froze in his tracks. Riker had an impression that he was rapidly running through the possible answers, but before he could press the issue the captain interposed: "I'm sorry for the... added precautions, Will. We had some problems up here – somebody tried to get in from the deck below a few minutes ago, and we didn't quite know what to expect. – So you finished your job, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain. The substance should be spreading over the ventilation system now."

Picard gave him a tiny nod, and Worf stalked back to his station, head held higher than usual if possible.

"In that case," Data chimed in, "we can expect to be contacted by some department or other in approximately fifteen minutes."

"Just how bad will it be, Data?" asked Picard.

"Most will be _functional_, Captain," replied Data, matter-of-factly. Picard sighed.

"That's really all I'm hoping for at the moment... What about the probes?"

"Readings are steadying. Unless there is some malfunction I have not yet discovered the approaching vessel should enter the nebula in about four hours."

"Any details yet?"

"No, sir. The readings from the probes are not sufficiently specific, the probes themselves being impaired by the chemical composition of the nebula."

Picard nodded quietly, and sat down in the center seat. Riker stood there for a moment, hesitating; then he dropped into the chair to the captain's right, wincing as the sudden jolt set off a stab of pain behind his temples. "Captain," he began rather formally.

"Yes, Number One?"

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior. _Out of line_ doesn't exactly cover it. I've been acting in a way I can barely believe now – with regard to my duties, but also towards you, sir. Of course I'm aware there'll be consequences of some sort, and there should be, but before we even get into that I'd like _you_ to know – "

"Will, please," interrupted Picard, wincing a little in his turn. "Yes, there'll be questions. But for one, those questions will have to be put to quite a number of people, not just to you. For another, while I tend to agree with you on the _out of line_ aspect I am quite aware that you did what you believed to be best for the ship, and I'm not going to lose sight of that. And finally," he finished, "before we start on the soul-searching, let's just get this mission over with, shall we?"

"Of course." Riker hesitated, a little shamed by this absolution. "Thank you, sir."

"What made you change your opinion about that thing, anyway?" Picard asked before he could pursue the subject any further. Riker grimaced.

"It... Tell you the truth, sir, it's... well, it's damn embarrassing. And as you just said, I'll have to answer a lot of questions at some stage anyway, including this one I suppose, so perhaps, if you don't mind, sir..."

"But I do mind," the captain said quietly.

Riker turned his head to look at him, and gave a brief nod. "Yes, sir. Fair enough. Well... let's just say that sometimes you don't see things because they're just too obvious. Or at least don't appreciate them – until it's rather late in the day."

Picard nodded, for all the world as if that rather cryptic explanation had made sense to him, thought Riker. The first officer grinned suddenly. "Also, some means can't be justified by any end whatsoever. Now _there_'s one for you, sir."

"I did ask," muttered the captain.

"So you did." There was a brief pause. Riker frowned; then he said a little abruptly: "With all due respect, sir, you're looking absolutely fagged. Won't you get some rest? I can handle things here."

"Don't _you_ start, Will," sighed Picard. "Obviously I can't – "

"Shields are up, Captain!" Worf's voice cut in from above, sounding as close to triumph as either man had ever heard him. "Seventy-six percent... eighty-one. Saucer dorsal phaser array on-line again. Aft photon torpedo launcher operative. Shields at eighty-four percent now."

"Worf," said Picard, turning to look up at his Tactical officer, "is that what you've been doing for the last ten minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Worf replied modestly. "Data being intent on monitoring intraship – "

"For Heaven's sake," began Picard, but the chitter of the intercom interrupted him. "Sickbay to bridge."

Mechanically the captain hit his communicator. "Bridge. Picard here."

"This is Lieutenant Selar. My apologies, Captain, but may I ask... may I ask whether the situation is normal up there? We are having some... difficulties... to cope with here, and I am not entirely sure whether the same applies to the bridge."

"I can well imagine that, Lieutenant, but yes, things are normal here."

The voice sounded a little hesitant. "Captain, might I ask you to specify?"

"Normal as in pre-device," the captain replied crisply.

"I understand. Thank you, sir, I am quite relieved. Sickbay out."

"Vulcans!" snorted Riker. "I bet she's feeling it less than anybody else. That Doctor Maruk was Vulcan, wasn't he? I'd like to have a word with him. My head still feels like some sort of sponge for all Dr. Crusher's medical aid."

"I'll have a word with him first, if you don't mind, Number One. Data, can we restore Yellow Alert conditions now? And what would we have to expect if anybody was to go down to Engineering or sickbay now?"

"I would recommend waiting another ten minutes before attempting either, Captain," Data replied from behind. "As Commander Riker has indicated, the Vulcans among the crew are probably among the first to recover. We should give others time to get their bearings. There is ample time, sir."

"If you say so," said Picard, settling back in his chair again.

**- - - - - - - -**


	23. Chapter 23

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 22**

"Engineering to bridge." The sound of his own voice made him feel as if his head was about to split. _Oh, wow_, Geordi La Forge thought feebly, his fingers groping round the contact points of his visor to rub his temples, and finding the device still attached to his right ear. _That thing. Hell, what a mess. What a headache_. He let go of the console he had been slumped against, and braced his shoulders against the bulkhead instead so he could use both hands. He tried to pry the thing loose, and found himself groaning with the effort, and then it occurred to him that the intercom might not be working. That headache was killing him, and he couldn't recall what made him think such a thing, but for a moment there –

"Bridge," said a familiar voice, and then fell silent, as if waiting for him to state his business. He frowned, trying to remember what it was he had been about to ask.

"Um, La Forge here. Commander, that you? I'm sorry, but what's going on? We've... I have a feeling that everybody here just blacked out for a minute. Um, are you all right up there? What... I mean, is the captain there as well?"

"Yes, Mr. La Forge, he is," a second voice answered. "What is your status?"

Geordi swallowed. "Well, Captain, we're managing, sort of. Did _you_ do that – whatever it was?"

"Data did most of it – including the restoring of communications."

"Oh," said Geordi, swallowing again. "I... well, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I mean, I'm terribly sorry for the mess. I'm not sure – if it's the way I think it is I – "

"Mr. La Forge," the captain interrupted, none too graciously, "I suggest you save your analyses for later. We have a number of problems, and we'll be getting company soon."

"Yes, sir. Of course. Um, you'll want the engines up and running."

"I want my _ship_ up and running, Mr. La Forge. We're at yellow alert, and we may find ourselves in a very difficult situation in a few hours. I'd appreciate a status report as soon as possible."

"Will do, sir." Damn that headache. Oddly enough, there was something bracing about that clipped tone. Geordi swallowed all the things he might have asked and added – there would be time for that afterwards. "La Forge out."

On the bridge, Picard turned his head to meet Worf's eyes. "Restore yellow alert, Lieutenant. I want all decks to report, and I want to know how far I can rely on my crew. In fact I'll call – "

"Captain," Riker said quietly. "Let me take care of this for a change."

Picard blinked, thrown off course for a moment. Then his mouth twitched a little. "Quite right, Number One. I seem to be doing your job here."

Riker gave Worf a nod; then he tapped his communicator. "Bridge to sickbay."

"Sickbay here." Beverly Crusher's voice was sounding harrassed, worried, and very tired, and her words appeared to tumble over one another. "Thank God the intercom... Will, are you in charge up there? Do you have any idea how the captain is doing? I haven't seen him in ages, and I don't – "

"He's doing well enough from what I can see," Riker replied with a quick grin. "Doctor, we've got to get this ship functional. Get some staff together and try to make sure people can do their jobs. We'll need our wits about us quite soon. I trust you're capable of doing that?"

"I think so, Wi... Commander. Hill's just analyzed this stuff you people released... " Her voice trailed off for a moment; then she apparently pulled herself together. "We're doing the best we can. But... we are having a few serious problems here, Will, you realize that?"

"I'm well aware of it, Doctor," replied Riker quickly. "Just carry on. Get yourself relieved if you have to. – And get Doctor Selar here on the double," he added. "Bridge out."

"Serious problems?" inquired the captain, looking alarmed.

"They were having them when I was down there. Several nervous breakdowns and the physical side effects of a _lot_ of lost tempers." Not to mention a CMO struggling with the aftereffects of medium phaser stun on top of everything else, but he wouldn't mention that specifically. _And probably another death_, he thought, feeling a wave of cold dismay rising within as the memory came back. _Oh, damn, damn, damn. I'll have to ask about Storgat. And then I just _have_ to tell him I suppose_.

"Will," Picard said suddenly, "how is Deanna? She wasn't too well when I last saw her."

"She's getting some rest I hope. I told her to, anyway. Where in _blazes_ is that doctor?" said Riker, accepting the postponement of that horrible business with a mixture of guilt and relief. _Just as well. He'll know soon enough_.

Doctor Selar, arriving barely three minutes later, made short work of the captain. She sat him down on his sofa, ran her tricorder over him and came as close to turning up her eyes as he had ever seen a Vulcan come. He fully expected a scathing remark on Worf's talents as a medic. But instead she merely selected a vial and slammed it into her hypospray. "Allow me, sir."

He felt his mind clearing almost immediately. "Aerosal," she explained. "The injury is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances, but I have added another dose of a painkiller just to be on the safe side."

"I appreciate it. In fact I'm feeling much better already."

"There is no on-the-run cure for exhaustion, sir," she said matter-of-factly. "I can give you a tonic, but my medical advice to you would be to rest. I am, of course, aware of the possibility that you may not take it."

"I won't be able to. Anything you can do that will keep me on my feet, Doctor."

"Very well." Another vial clicked into place. "This should get rid of the nausea as well. You probably don't feel like eating, but your blood sugar levels are..." She looked at her tricorder again, her eyebrows rising still further. "Low," she concluded. "You'll _have_ to eat, sir. For the moment I'll give you a glucose solution and some mineral salts..." She looked her kit over critically. "Another thing, sir. You're badly dehydrated. I can give you all sorts of things" – and in fact she was already inserting another ampule into the hypospray – "but there's no such substance as dehydrated water. Therefore, drink – as much as you can."

"Yes, Doctor," he said meekly. "What's that?"

"An electrolyte solution. You may not realize it, but you shouldn't be able to sit up in your present condition, much less _do_ anything."

"But I'll stay the course?"

"You have a few hours now. If you manage to get some sleep in between, a little more. After that you'll simply pass out. Your system can't take much more." Almost as an afterthought she picked yet another vial. "There. This will calm you – your nerves are badly jangled too." Replacing the hypospray, she closed her field kit with a sharp clack. The captain stood, cautiously, testing the waters. The floor felt solid enough.

"Doctor."

"Sir?"

"How is my crew?"

For a bare moment her eyes dropped. Then she looked up again and met his gaze. "Too early to tell. But from what I've seen so far," replied Selar crisply, "most of your crew are doing fine – apart from some disorientation, a number of headaches and minor injuries and a general sense of having made fools of themselves in a big way. Present company included." And with that, and a brief nod to him, she left. He followed a moment later, in time to see her administer some kind of medication to Riker, who nodded his thanks and sent her on to Worf with a silent jerk of his head. Worf scowled but for once submitted without comment. Picard dropped into the center seat.

"Better, sir?"

"Much better. Data, I'm glad to see you back at Ops."

Data swiveled his chair to face him. "I am pleased too, sir. However, I assume that your remark was intended not only to convey a sentiment but also to imply your belief that I have finished work on the main computer for the moment. That is the case."

Picard smiled. "What about the probes?"

"The approaching vessel will enter the nebula in approximately three hours forty-five minutes. Communication will be possible about an hour later."

Riker nodded at that. "With your permission, Captain, I'd like to pay a brief visit to a few departments. Collect Geordi's status report in person and have a look at Engineering while I'm at it. Just to make sure."

"Permission granted," Picard said. "In fact I was going to suggest just that in another minute or so."

"I had a feeling that you might," said Riker, deadpan. Then he turned his head, catching Worf's glance.

"Go get some rest, Worf."

"Commander, with all due respect – "

"Because," Riker went on, "I want you up there when our negotiator gets here, and I want you functional. You have three hours at least. Use them. That's an order, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," said Worf grudgingly, tapping his comm badge. "Worf to N'Guyn."

There was no reply. Both Picard and Riker looked up, waiting. Worf hit his communicator again. "Worf to N'Guyn. Respond."

"N'Guyn here. Sorry for the delay, sir, I've been, well, off duty. Lieutenant Singh's orders."

"Report to the bridge now," said Worf. "I will require a report. Then you will relieve me at Tactical."

A pause. "On my way, sir. Just getting ready. I take it things are back to normal." There was a hint of excitement in N'Guyn's voice. Riker was trying hard not to grin.

"They will be," replied Worf ominously. "Worf out."

Riker stood. "Get going, Worf. I'll take Tactical until that guy turns up, and his report too. That is – " He stopped himself. "Captain? Have I missed something?"

Picard looked up at him with a somewhat rueful twinkle. "No, Number One, you haven't. I was going to call a meeting, but I seem to have changed my mind just now. Counselor Troi needs to rest, and you're quite right about Worf too. And Geordi and Dr. Crusher will have their hands full as it is. In fact I think – " The captain broke off in mid-sentence and frowned, rubbing the back of his hand against his cheek with a slightly pained expression. Then he got to his feet as well. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

"You're going to get some rest too, sir?" asked Riker.

"No. I'm going to _shave_."

He did more than that once he reached his quarters; he stayed for a hot shower and a change of uniform, part of his mind surprised at his own calm, another part half-waiting for the other shoe to drop, a third uncomfortably aware of the fact that half a dozen drugs were keeping him from falling apart. _Well, it can't be helped now_. The sight of the monitor sitting on his desk with a couple of neatly stacked padds nearby reminded him that it was days since he had read through the details of his assignment. He called them up; then, mindful of his instructions, he went over to the replicator and ordered some soup. The unit chirped dutifully and produced a bowl, napkin, roll and spoon, neatly arranged on a small tray. The innocent smell of the stuff almost made his stomach revolt, but he set his teeth and carried it to his desk. _She's quite right. I _don't_ feel like eating_. He got through his soup without another surge of nausea by keeping his mind firmly on the meager facts provided by Admiral Juarez. Then, deciding that enough was enough, he cleared the screen. Time to return to the bridge.

The ship felt different already. Somehow, the air smelt fresher – as if the ventilation system had been deteriorating imperceptibly over a period of time, and been restored only lately. _Or perhaps_, he thought with a very slight smile, _it's me imagining things_...

But there was no denying the feeling that things were falling back into place. He kept an eye out for devices, but the decks were fairly quiet, and the crewmen he met went about their business with an air of quiet professionalism – even though he caught a few embarrassed sideways glances. Two maintenance teams could be heard exchanging reports over the intercom. An ensign rounding the corner from the turbolift stopped rather abruptly on seeing him, and then made way for him with a muttered "Captain", eyes averted – but even he, he noted with relief, was not wearing the thing. And when he stepped out onto the bridge it immediately struck him how very alive it had come in such a short time, with a full complement manning the stations. He paused for a moment with his hands on the wooden railing, involuntarily drawing a deep breath; he even closed his eyes for a few heartbeats, imagining, during one brief irrational moment, that he could feel the last of his strength draining away into the fabric of his ship. He hadn't known how desperately he had been holding on, until now.

Riker rose out of the center seat, greeting him with an affectionate but somewhat wry grin – the expression of a man who didn't even pretend that he hadn't expected to see him back on the bridge within the hour. "Almost back to normal, sir. All systems functional, excepting the sensors, of course. I've instructed department heads to send all non-essential staff off to get some rest while they can. Sickbay reports that so far things have been _manageable_, to quote Doctor Crusher."

The captain nodded. "That is the impression I was getting just now as well. Still, I strongly suggest keeping our eyes peeled."

"I agree, sir," said Riker, cast a quick look round the bridge, and on noticing that he had everybody's attention went on without lowering his voice: "In fact Data has informed me that he may soon be able to trace the signature of an activated device back to its source. I hope we won't have to use that option, but better safe than sorry."

"Just so, Number One," said Picard, very dryly. And then, all of a sudden, something seemed to give way.

"I'll be in my ready room, Will."

"Yes, Captain," said Riker.

"I want to be notified before that ship is within communications range. _Well_ before."

"Yes, sir."

"That's an order."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Riker shook his head a little once the ready room door had closed. Then he addressed himself to the intercom.

"Riker to sickbay."

"Yes," a voice answered. She sounded dead tired. "Crusher here."

"Doctor, how is Counselor Troi? I'm sure you have your hands full, and I don't want to rush anybody, but she'll be needed to assess our friends out there in a few hours. _Urgently_ needed."

There was a pause. "Will," said Crusher finally, "I see your point, but I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that. And there... in fact I'd like you to come down here for a minute if you can be spared."

_Damn_, thought Riker, seeing things catching up with him. _Well, let's get this over with_. He got out of his seat.

"I'll be in sickbay. You have the bridge, Data."

**- - - - - - -**


	24. Chapter 24

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 23**

"Captain."

Picard instinctively erased any trace of sleep from his voice as he answered. "Yes, what is it?"

Only then did he realize that this had been the second time he had been called. And the voice was much too close to have emerged from the intercom grid. He opened his eyes to find Riker standing next to his sofa. "Wouldn't the intercom have done the job?" he asked, sitting up.

"I wasn't going to risk having to repeat it two or three times, sir. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." He was getting to his feet as he spoke, and straightening his uniform tunic with an emphatic tug. It happened to be true enough. He did feel rested. "The Cardassians?"

"Slowed to something like half-impulse and passed between two of our probes a few minutes ago. ETA in thirty minutes, more or less."

"Did they notice them?" the captain asked.

Riker shrugged. "Probably. They should have a fairly clear idea where we are by now. – Captain, there's something you really should know. Two things, actually."

Picard paused on his way to the door, then turned. Something unusual had crept into Will's voice. Something formal, disquietingly so.

"Yes?"

"I am sorry, sir, but among the casualties on the ship there have been two more fatalities. Lieutenant Benedetto and Ensign Storgat. I _should_ say one more at this point – Storgat is still hanging on. But Doctor Crusher says there is nothing she can do for him any more."

"I understand." There was a pause; for a moment Riker thought he could see the captain's composure crumble before his eyes. Then Picard straightened. "And the other one?"

"Counselor Troi. I've been talking to the doctor. I've made very sure she understands what the situation is, but she says there's just no way Deanna could return to duty today, or even tomorrow. Apparently she's had some kind of nervous breakdown, and frankly I can't say I'm surprised. She was pretty much spent when I last saw her – said she couldn't sense a thing –, and that stuff we released into the ventilation system must have finished her off. They're keeping her sedated – at the moment she isn't even conscious."

Another moment's silence. The captain nodded slowly, digesting this piece of news; Riker could hear one deeply drawn breath. Finally Picard said, a little flatly: "Well, it can't be helped. We'll just have to manage without her," and turned towards the door again. Data and Ensign Westaway were manning the forward stations. Worf was back at Tactical, bolt upright, resplendent in a clean uniform and an immaculate pigtail and looking rather less gray and tired than the last time the captain had seen him. He gave him a brief nod before settling into his chair.

"Report, Lieutenant."

"Interference is still strong. We will not have a visual until the ship is very close. Communication will require them to get closer still, but it appears to be a Hideki class vessel. They are quite small – no match for our defenses. Damage teams are still busy in parts of the ship, but all decks have reported readiness. – We will not be able to separate the saucer section," added Worf.

"Why?" asked Picard.

"Because of massive phaser damage to the battle bridge's Ops and Tactical consoles, the battle section is not fully operational by itself... sir," said Worf matter-of-factly. Picard turned his head to look up at him, but the Klingon's expression was inscrutable.

"Thank you, Mr. Worf, I had forgotten that detail. Raise shields," said Picard. A moment later he looked up questioningly as Riker appeared at his side with a mug containing something dark and steaming. "What's that?"

"Coffee, sir," Riker replied, trying, not quite successfully, to suppress an affectionate grin. Worf – no, not Worf, Data, of course – must have told him about that Klingon tea. Picard took the mug, savoring the smell. "Thank you, Will," he said composedly, upon which Riker dropped into his own seat and swiveled his screen towards himself. The captain sat with the mug in his hand, his look turned inward. The absence of his counselor was one thing he hadn't foreseen, and for a few moments he had felt nothing but sheer dismay at the prospect. Somehow Deanna's support had seemed to be an essential part of this mission. Somehow, somewhere, he had never quite lost the belief that he would be able to draw on her at need, even during the bleak moments when he had seriously considered destroying his ship to be one of the few possible outcomes of this venture. And now...

He dismissed the thought as he had firmly dismissed the initial dismay on hearing of those two deaths. No point in growing apprehensive now, no point in allowing himself to be distracted. All of that would have to wait._ Let's just do our best. After all we have a fighting chance now_... He frowned a little, his attention finally drawn to the taste of the brew he was drinking. There was _sugar_ in that coffee. Somebody was trying to feed him up. Picard turned his head to give his first officer a searching look, but Will was still intent on his monitor. Well, strictly speaking _all_ of this was against bridge protocol, thought the captain as he sat sipping his coffee, listening to the sounds of his bridge, and waiting.

Worf's voice broke the lull. "Sir, the Cardassian ship is entering visual range – such as it is."

"On screen."

The image was woefully bad – a blurred speck of dark amber moving against a flickering background. Picard frowned. "Can you clear that up a bit, Lieutenant?"

"I am trying, sir, but I believe the visual is as good as –" Worf paused rather abruptly. "Sir, one of the two probes monitoring the ship's approach has just stopped transmitting."

"Cause?" asked Picard, frowning at his empty coffee mug and momentarily at a loss what to do with it. Then he disposed of it by carefully putting it down on the floor by his chair.

"Unknown. I do not read any weapons activity." He hesitated, then continued reluctantly: "The probes _were_ degenerating. Readings have been fluctuating for some time now."

"Great," Riker muttered into the tense silence that had fallen over the bridge.

"Red alert," said the captain.

Over the whooping of the sirens Worf's voice boomed: "Their shields are up. They are now powering up their weapons, sir. They appear to have delayed this on purpose."

"_What_ purpose?" Riker twisted round in his chair. "They couldn't do much harm to this ship if they tried."

Worf's teeth were showing for a moment. "I believe it to be a show of _trust_, Commander."

"What's the crew complement of that ship, Data? Can you tell?"

"Normally about twelve, sir. In fact the number of lifeforms aboard this particular vessel may be somewhat larger than that, but it is impossible to establish an exact number."

"Just tell me when we are close enough to hail them, Worf," said Picard, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He was acutely aware of the empty seat on his left.

"Captain," said Worf. "The vessel has come to a full stop. It is now holding position at a distance of... six hundred kilometers."

The captain turned. "_Six hundred kilometers_, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Our sensors are degenerating rapidly, sir," supplied Data from Ops.

"Any closer, and they'd have set off a proximity alarm," muttered Riker.

The captain shook his head. "Very well. Hailing frequencies."

"Open," said Worf. Picard stood.

"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. Do you read me?"

Flickering static filled the screen, distorting and all but obscuring a ridgy gray-skinned face. The transceivers hissed and sputtered. "I am Gul Dravek of the _Haklamar_, hailing from... that is, wait, you are _who_?"

Picard heard the sharp intake of breath on his right. Of course. He should have expected the reaction. A high-ranking Cardassian official and member of the Obsidian Order could hardly be entirely unaware of the recent events surrounding Minos Korva and Celtris III. He tried again, hoping that his voice would not betray the sudden pounding in his chest.

"Captain Picard of the _Enterprise_, sent to meet you on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. I'm ready to commence this meeting whenever you are."

There was movement on the screen now. The Cardassian had turned to consult with another blurred figure just visible beyond the flickering bars of light. Among the crackle and sputter snatches of rapidly whispered exchanges came over the link, too low for the computer to catch and translate. Riker appeared at his captain's elbow.

"Now _that_'s surprised the hell out of him," he muttered, just audibly. "D'you think you've just upset his agenda, sir?"

"I think," Picard began, just as softly, and stopped. The Cardassian had turned back to the viewscreen. After that first betrayal of surprise he now appeared perfectly in command of himself – the serene confidence in his voice carried even over the noisy interference.

"You must excuse my initial reaction, Captain. I frankly had no idea that Starfleet's flagship would be dispatched on this assignment. May I ask just how far you are authorized to take these talks?"

"I am authorized to listen to whatever it is you wish to tell us, and to use my own discretion – up to a point. You haven't been very specific about your side of it. But you have gone to a great deal of trouble setting up this meeting, Gul Dravek – may I suggest you beam over to the _Enterprise_ with whatever number of aides you choose to bring, and let us get on with it?"

"Well." The tone remained serene, but a note of wariness was creeping in now, just strong enough to be audible. _Is he play-acting?_ Picard thought, uneasily. It was utterly impossible to read anything from the blur that was the Cardassian's face. "Captain, it is true that you have a reputation as a mediator, and as a man of integrity. But under the circumstances you'll understand that I am somewhat hesitant to deliver myself into your hands."

"But then you have already done that," Picard replied. "You are aware, of course, that the _Enterprise_ could destroy your ship without taking so much as a single hit."

"I am. But of course I don't believe you'd do that. My message would die with me, and the repercussions could be most unpleasant." Gul Dravek paused, appearing to consider. "Let me make a suggestion – one that might even things out a little. Why don't _you_ accept the hospitality of _my_ ship, Captain? Our premises are a little cramped to be sure, but I believe we could accommodate one aide. We'd be able to discuss this matter at our leisure." Another short pause, filled by the whistle of static. "All things considered, that _is_ as far as I can go, faced with the firepower of a Galaxy-class ship."

"I'll consider your proposal, Gul Dravek," said Picard.

"I await your answer. There is no hurry," the Cardassian replied graciously, and turning towards Tactical with a brief nod, the captain closed the link.

After a brief silence Riker said: "Of all the gall."

"There is a certain logic to his request, Commander," Data observed. "However, given the risks involved, I would not recommend going along with it unless there is no other option."

"I agree. Wholeheartedly," said Riker.

"I thought you would," Picard said rather dryly. "But he does have a point, Number One."

"You're not telling me you're seriously considering this, sir?"

"Frankly, I don't think I have much of a choice. We've been sitting here for how long now? I don't want to wait until the sensors are completely useless, and emerge from this nebula blind and deaf. Besides," he added, "_someone_ has to take the first step."

"With all d-," began Riker, but he didn't get any further than that.

"Captain!" That was Worf, his voice almost choked with pent-up rage and disbelief. "This is beyond bearing! You will not... you _could_ not – !" There was no chance of a misunderstanding this time. Worf was furious, and the captain was meant to hear it. For a moment Picard fully expected him to pound his console in frustration. He couldn't help sympathizing with his security chief. He also felt, and strongly, that he had been contradicted quite enough for the moment.

"Mr. Worf," he said quietly. "Number One. I would like a word with you both. You have the bridge, Mr. Data."

He could hear something between a snarl and a sigh behind his back as Worf relinquished his station. In his ready room he slid into his chair and folded his hands on the desk.

"Very well. If you can give me a better option, I'm willing to listen."

"Wait until Deanna is functional again," Riker said promptly. "Dravek's the one who approached us. He wants something of _us_. He can wait."

"He can wait a lot longer than we can, Will – as he reminded us just now in that inimitable way. He's only just entered this nebula. His sensors will outlast ours by days, and he knows perfectly well where our orders came from. We are here in order to hear what he has to say. He _knows_ we don't have a choice."

"With all due respect, Captain, we do." Worf's voice was ominously soft. "He cannot leave without our permission."

"And we can't keep him from leaving if he chooses to. This is neutral space."

Riker groaned. "What a perfectly vicious little piece of blackmail."

"Sir. You cannot deliver yourself into their hands. They have no..." Worf hesitated for a fraction of a second – "respect for courage or integrity. They _will_ take advantage."

"We don't know that until we've tried." Picard paused. "I would have asked you to accompany me to the _Haklamar_, Lieutenant. However, if you feel that your sentiments might be getting in the way of your performance – "

Over Worf's very audibly drawn breath Riker blurted: "You're not _going_, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, Number One, I think I will. Mr. Worf – "

The look Worf gave him was more indignant than before if possible. He actually seemed to grow an inch as he pulled himself up, his voice an offended growl. "My _sentiments_ will not prevent me from doing my duty, Captain. Request permission to accompany you."

"Granted."

"Right," snapped Riker. "So what _if_ they take advantage – don't let you leave?"

"In that case," Picard said carefully, sounding very calm, "you'll give them an ultimatum, and after that you'll head back while you have any sensors left. Don't allow yourself to be blackmailed."

There was a pause. "Sir," Riker said with some difficulty, "frankly, that wasn't the kind of order I've been expecting. We've got them outgunned. It would be easy enough – "

"To blow them to atoms, or at least _threaten_ to do it? And me along with them if necessary?" The captain actually smiled. "I appreciate the logic, Will, and I suspect Worf does too. But consider this. If this meeting really is a set-up, then what could suit them better than an aggressive act by the _Enterprise,_ towards a much smaller vessel?"

"A vessel holding her captain hostage? After what they did to you last time?" Riker's voice rose in volume. "Sir, _anybody_ would – "

"Will," said Picard. "_Last time_ never happened."

"Right. Neither does this," Riker shot back.

"You know better than that. If this is to be a diplomatic incident, then that's what it will be." Picard sighed. "We simply have to act in good faith. If it doesn't work out... well, don't do anything that could be used against the Federation."

"No, Captain. I'll just allow them to mistreat you any way they choose."

"Will," Picard replied patiently. "We don't know what his intentions are."

"I still do not advise it," Worf said through clenched teeth.

"Neither do I, Captain."

"Noted. And, if you insist, logged." Picard paused, then looked up at the two of them towering over him. Concern and frustration made them look curiously alike. He had had every intention of bringing the interview to a summary close, but now he said: "I appreciate your objections. But there's really nothing to discuss. _We_'ve taken a lot of trouble to get this far. In the end, these are Starfleet's orders."

"Yes, _sir_," Riker said tensely.

"Another thing, Will. Yes, it _may_ be a trap. Believe me, I'm very aware of that. But the day I am unable to recognize a real chance for the possible risks... well, I hope I'll know when I'm no longer in the right place." He rose rather abruptly. "That will be all, gentlemen. Let's get on with this."

**- - - - - - - -**


	25. Chapter 25

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 24 **

"Worf," Riker said softly when the ready room door swished open. "A word with you."

At the door, Picard glanced briefly back at them, gave a nod, and strode out onto the bridge. The door hissed shut.

"Commander?"

"You know what this means." Riker briefly clenched his teeth. The captain might have given them a moment, but that was what it was going to be – a moment. "If this goes wrong Starfleet will simply look the other way. They'll swear it wasn't on their orders that we met in secret with this guy, and wash their hands of the entire business."

Worf said nothing. Riker drew a breath and went on in a hurry.

"So the Cardassians can do pretty much what they like. Invent a story, stage one of their show trials if it suits them, prove that Starfleet's most respected captain has turned terrorist or traitor, and watch us falling over backwards to establish that we had nothing to do with it. Or if they prefer, just quietly take him to pieces. They could take their time over it. He'll be forgotten at our end. Officially forgotten and – "

"They will not."

Riker's head snapped up at the interruption. All of a sudden the first officer had a feeling that he might have saved himself the entire tirade.

"Meaning?" he asked.

"Meaning I will make sure."

A beat. Worf was studying a point somewhere in midair. Riker felt his insides churn in a way they had not churned before at the utter calm of the statement. He drew another breath.

"Right," he said. "Let's go."

**- - - - - - - -**

Picard was back in the center seat but got to his feet when he saw the two of them emerging from his ready room. Worf strode up the ramp to take his place at Tactical, dismissing N'Guyn. Riker joined the captain in the central well just as Worf said from above: "Channel open, sir."

"Gul Dravek," said Picard, and the barely-recognizable image of the Cardassian bridge reappeared on the screen. "I'll accept your conditions. I'm beaming over to your ship with one aide so we can get on with this."

There was a moment's pause. Then the Cardassian said: "We are expecting you, Captain" – and the element of surprise was so subtle it might just have been real, the captain thought. But then again, it might be not. He turned, signaling to Worf to cut the link.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Number One – "

"I'll see you to the transporter room, sir. Not sure I've ever heard the name of the guy who's in charge down there right now," said Riker tensely. "You have the bridge, Data."

The turbolift ride was accomplished in silence. In the transporter room an alarmed-looking young technician snapped to attention behind his console.

"At ease, Crewman," said Riker, and watched Picard and Worf step onto the platform. "Right. Good luck, sir."

"Thank you, Will," replied Picard. "Energize."

The transporter room the captain saw materializing before his eyes was tiny and cramped, and dimly lit with a brownish light that made the air appear even warmer than it was. Pieces of equipment were stacked against the walls. There were two men at the transporter console, both of them in full uniform. One of them took a step forward, giving him that peculiarly predatory Cardassian smile that looked more like a quick baring of the teeth.

"Captain Picard. I am honored by your visit. And this is – "

"My Chief of Security, Lieutenant Worf." There was a brief exchange of glances. Picard couldn't see Worf's expression, but he did catch the look flitting across Dravek's face. _He knows_, he thought. _He's heard Worf's name before, too_. Gul Dravek was younger than he had expected, with quick, keen, pale grey eyes. He was tall too – about half a head taller than Picard, only by about an inch shorter than Worf.

"Lieutenant. Captain, this is my temporary first officer, Glinn Vokarra." The man behind the console acknowledged him with an abrupt nod. He was stockier, older, and much less urbane. Picard felt his look sizing him up. Gul Dravek stepped in before the scrutiny became too blatant. "Do come with me, Captain. I apologize for the lack of comfort you will find. This ship was never meant to carry a crew of thirty-one." He signaled his first officer with a flick of his chin to follow them. Picard felt Worf smoothly interposing himself behind his back. The transporter room door gave on to a short corridor which intersected another after a very few steps. There was movement to both sides, an impression of a number of people pausing in whatever they were doing to allow them to pass. Gul Dravek entered a small room just past the intersection, and once inside stepped aside to allow Picard to precede him. "Take a seat, Captain. We should be able to talk undisturbed here."

There were a table and four chairs, a dark wall monitor with a console, and some equipment Picard couldn't make out. The lighting was dim, amber-tinted like the corridors; with four people occupying it the room would be crowded. Already the heat was feeling oppressive. He chose a seat, and Worf quietly moved into position behind and slightly to the right of him, his own back to the wall. Picard thought he could see a flicker of amusement pass over Gul Dravek's face just before the Cardassian took a chair as well, directing his officer to the one next to himself. The door swished shut.

"Well." Gul Dravek's smile was marked now. "I won't hide from you that your coming over here has made this much easier than it could have been, Captain. I expected having to resort to subterfuge of some sort in order to – "

The chitter of Picard's communicator interrupted the sentence, so suddenly that the captain started. He had been trying to keep his apprehension to himself, but now he had given himself away he felt Worf's tension going up another notch. He fiercely called his nerves to order and activated the communicator without hesitation. Riker wouldn't expect to catch him alone. "Picard here."

"Captain," came Riker's voice, stretched tight with control, "according to the remaining probe something's heading our way from roughly the same direction as the _Haklamar_, and it looks a hell of a lot like a couple of Cardassian ships. Not sure how reliable that probe is by now, but from what we can tell they should reach the nebula in something like four hours."

"Understood. Get the ship ready for immediate departure. Keep me informed. Picard out." He closed the link and got to his feet. He could feel Worf moving closer, so close he actually heard him breathing, and the breaths were long and controlled as if the Klingon was deliberately preparing himself for action. And in fact Worf was taut as a spring, ready to shove his captain out of the way at a fraction of a second's notice and fire, stab, lash out, go into battle for all he was worth... as long as there was still a chance of getting out of this. Thirty-one crew. He had actually been doing some rapid calculations on the possible chances of taking on a crew of thirty-one on an overcrowded ship. Glinn Vokarra stood as well now, his back to the door. Gul Dravek remained seated.

"I suppose you can give me an explanation for this, Gul Dravek?" Picard said quietly.

"No. I cannot, although I could speculate. Captain, I know how this must appear to you, but I must ask you to believe me – until right now I knew nothing about these ships. I did my best to leave no trail."

"Then I have to get back to the _Enterprise_. Under the circumstances those ships pose a threat to my own vessel. Would you kindly tell your first officer to move out of the way?"

"Captain." Gul Dravek got to his feet as well. "Ten of your minutes. After that you will leave if you so wish. I give you my word."

After a very brief pause Picard sank back into his chair. "Very well. I suggest you tell me why you're here. All of it."

"For you to believe or dismiss as you choose?" Gul Dravek sat with a tense smile, showing a sliver of white teeth. "I'll do that. There is no other way now – not with those ships coming after me." He must have caught a trace of scepticism in Picard's face, because he added immediately: "Oh, they're coming for you as well, Captain – don't get me wrong. They would be delighted to catch Starfleet engaged in undercover negotiations with a traitor to the empire. They probably don't know what exactly they will be facing any more than I did. But, say, a couple of Galor-class ships would be a match for the finest vessel Starfleet could send." He paused for a moment. "I'm not really a negotiator, Captain. Nobody sent me. I'm a defector, if you like. I want you to take me into Federation custody, and do everything you can to ensure me a life in safety until I can return – if that time ever comes. For that I'm willing to pay a price. You know who I am. I've been working for the Obsidian Order for years – you'll believe me when I tell you I can make it worth Starfleet's while."

Picard was silent for a couple of seconds. The explanation was one he remembered briefly considering as one of several possibilities; it came as less of a surprise than Dravek might have thought. But the heat in the room made breathing seem like an effort, and his heart was pounding; he found himself working to keep his voice calm.

"I see no reason why I should," he said. "For one thing, I _don't_ know who you are. Your name means nothing to me. There has been barely any information other than that such a person exists. You appear to be informed about things that were supposed to be secret, but whoever sent you might have told you about it. I have been warned of a possible set-up. Now how am I to know that taking you back to Federation space with me will not be construed as an aggressive act? You have made sure to arrive in a ship that could be easily overpowered by almost anything Starfleet could have sent. And you requested this meeting-place which makes sure I cannot verify anything about you. Do you seriously expect me to believe you?"

"You'll have to," replied Gul Dravek, flatly. "You are absolutely right, Captain. I can't prove a thing. But you are here now. So am I, and so are our friends out there. If those ships find us here Starfleet _has_ been caught negotiating with a traitor, undermining the peace talks, and you and your officers will stand trial on Cardassia Prime. I'm sure you have heard about Cardassian trials. Or it's just possible that you'll be extradited to the Federation – after Central Command has made sure there is a suitable public outcry – although I doubt that would happen. In any case I think it unlikely that anybody in Starfleet will admit to having given the orders that brought you here. My government will have its proof of Federation duplicity, and your government will have its scapegoat. If it is a diplomatic incident you are trying to avoid, then you cannot avoid it by refusing to help me."

"But I can." Picard managed a small smile. "You see, Gul Dravek, most of what you have just told me has been crossing a number of minds at Starfleet Command too, not to mention my own. And one thing I _can_ do is to take my ship back to Federation space right now, without you. I can even wait here, tell the captains of those two ships that I've been lured here under false pretenses, and hand you over."

"You don't seriously believe they'd allow you to leave," said Gul Dravek calmly.

"Well, that depends, doesn't it? _They_ might be the ones I should be talking to. _You_ might be the one trying to start a diplomatic incident. We're not at war, Gul Dravek, if that's your name. I somehow don't think they'd open fire on my ship without at least asking a few questions first."

"Perhaps not," conceded Dravek, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But then of course you, Captain, are well aware of the fact that while you are on my ship you are in no position to talk to them about anything at all, let alone hand me over. And as for heading back to Federation space, I somehow don't think your ship would leave without you." Picard felt a tiny movement to his right, and looked up quickly to meet Worf's eyes, shaking his head. His communicator chittered before he could answer. He raised his hand to his shoulder, trying to think over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears. "Yes. Picard here."

"Captain, you're taking your time. Is everything all right over there, sir?" Riker's voice asked without preamble.

"Yes, Number One. This may take a little while longer, but we'll be finished here _well_ before those ships arrive. Ten minutes, I should say, no more. Picard out."

Gul Dravek was smiling slightly. "Your officers seem quite concerned about your safety," he said with a passing glance at Worf. "Captain, you know perfectly well that I could keep you here well beyond those ten minutes, and there is very little your first officer could do about it. What would you say if I gave you a choice? Either those ships will arrive and take you back to Cardassia along with me, and probably your _Enterprise_ as well. Or your crew will agree to escort the _Haklamar_ into Federation space. They won't risk any harm to you."

"I would say," replied Picard carefully, "that we both have been aware of these possibilities from the beginning. The first is real. The second is not. I have given very specific orders with regard to it. I will not allow my crew to be blackmailed by you. My ship _will_ leave without you, and without me as well, if necessary."

"I wonder how your orders would keep up under true pressure," said Gul Dravek softly, his eyes briefly going to Worf's face again. Picard could imagine only too well what he saw there. "But I don't really want to try. Fortunately, there may be another way. Captain, for now forget what I said about making it worth Starfleet's while. I request political asylum for myself, my family, my aides and those constituting this crew. They have shown me exceptional loyalty and courage, and they would have to pay the price for my actions; I cannot risk that."

"I see," whispered Picard, more to himself than to anybody else. He had known that Gul Dravek had him, well before the Cardassian had finished, and at the same time the relief rising within almost choked him; it took him a moment to find his voice. "Very well," he said at last and softly. "It seems you have hit on something I cannot deny you in good conscience. I'll grant you asylum – aboard the _Enterprise_. I'm not taking your ship along with me. That way I'll at least eliminate _some_ of the possibilities." He carefully got to his feet. "Move your vessel into the centre of the nebula on autopilot; let them believe you're still there, trying to hide. It will give us a little more time to leave."

"May I ask why that is still important to you, Captain?"

"Because, Gul Dravek, I have no wish to impede the peace talks between Cardassia and the Federation because of thirty-one defectors – if that is indeed what you are. I'm not waiting for those ships to catch me here. As far as I am concerned the _Enterprise_ has never been in this nebula. We might just have the time to pull this off if you act quickly."

Gul Dravek thought for a moment; then he nodded. "I cannot in fairness object to anything you want done. We'll do what you suggest."

Picard tapped his communicator. "Picard to _Enterprise_."

"Yes, Captain. Riker here." There was an unmistakable rasp in the voice.

"We're about to return, Number One. Please see to quarters for thirty-one, civilians as well as crew, and appropriate security measures. We'll get out of here as soon as evacuation of the _Haklamar_ is complete."

"I... understand, Captain. Riker out."

"I will accompany you to the transporter room, Captain," said Gul Dravek, getting to his feet as he spoke. "Surim, tell them to get ready for evacuation to the _Enterprise_. I'll be back in a minute."

Glinn Vokarra gave a brief, frowning nod, rose, and left. "He does not approve of trusting _you_, Captain," Gul Dravek remarked lightly, once again letting Picard precede him and falling into step beside him once they were outside in the corridor. Worf quietly brought up the rear; Picard felt his unabated watchfulness in his back. Somehow, the heat felt even worse – like something weighing physically, numbingly, on the forehead and eyelids and shoulders. He could feel tiny beads of sweat forming. _Reaction_, he thought. _I'm really quite tired_. He didn't bother to answer, and after a few steps the Cardassian added casually: "I would appreciate an opportunity to explain my motives to you when it is convenient. I am quite used to being mistrusted, naturally, but for a number of reasons I would like this particular encounter to be free of misunderstandings."

"I'll see what I can do," Picard replied neutrally as they entered the transporter room. A female in civilian garb who had been manning the console slipped out at a brief nod from Dravek. As he mounted the transporter platform Picard asked: "How long will your crew need to evacuate?"

"We have kept ourselves prepared for quite a number of possibilities, Captain," Gul Dravek replied serenely. "Another fifteen of your minutes at most."

"My first officer will see to your needs," said Picard, and then he felt the amber heat of the room dissolve, mercifully, in the flicker of the transporter beam.

**- - - - - - - - -**


	26. Chapter 26

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 25**

Riker must have started work on the security and accommodation problems literally on the run, for the first officer came barreling into the transporter room a few seconds after Picard had climbed down from the platform, an amber-clad security detail of at least half a dozen in tow. „Captain, it _is_ good to see you. I take it all went well over there."

„Yes, Will. It did." He could feel Riker's relief like something tangible in the air, and he was feeling lightheaded with nerves himself. He saw a brief look passing between Riker and Worf; then the first officer led the way to the door while the security took up position facing the transporter platform. Once outside Riker added: „That evacuation is a bit of a surprise, though. And who are those civilians – did he bring his family?"

„Apparently so. He says he is a defector, and I am not at all sure he's telling the truth. Will, I don't want them to have the run of the ship."

„No, Captain. I'll make sure of that. In fact Singh is already at it." He turned to give Worf a quick grin, adding under his breath: „Very eager to redeem himself, Lieutenant Singh."

„He should be," growled Worf. "I will supervise the arrival of the Cardassians myself, however."

"No, you won't. Data is going to do that. _You_ have an appointment with sickbay, and there's no way you'll get out of that one, Worf." Riker pressed the button for the turbolift and turned back to Picard without waiting for Worf's reaction. „I take it we're heading back to Federation space now? And then what?"

The turbolift door swished open before the captain could answer, more security spilling out; Worf gave them a grim look and stepped aside to let them pass. "Deck twelve," said Riker as they entered the car.

"Bridge," said Picard. "I don't know, Will, that's up to Starfleet Command. Dravek asked me for political asylum for himself and his dependants. So far he hasn't told me why, and he hasn't said what he has to offer. According to him those two ships are coming for him, and under the circumstances I don't think we should wait and find out. We've got Dravek, which is what Starfleet wanted. I told him to move his own ship as far as possible into the center of the nebula, let them search for as long as they'll fall for it while we use what time we have to get out ourselves. Beyond that... well, we'll contact Admiral Juarez, tell him what we found, and meanwhile try to find out more ourselves."

Riker smiled slightly. „Thanks for the briefing, sir, I think I can work with that."

"Halt," said the captain, and the turbolift stopped. "Will, I want those Cardassians checked very thoroughly. Weapons, explosives, transmitters..."

"All arranged for. They're not smuggling anything dubious past Data. And with all due respect, _I_ want _you_ to go and get some rest before you pass out on me, Captain. Doctor Crusher wants to see you in sickbay first, though. I tried to argue, but she was pretty adamant." He threw Worf a wry look. "Sorry for that."

Worf uttered a soft dismissive grunt deep in his throat but refrained from further comment. After a brief moment Picard gave a nod. "I suppose you are right, Number One."

Riker's eyebrows rose, but the first officer took it in his stride. "Resume. Sickbay. – If it's all right with you I'll get back to the bridge, and the moment everybody is aboard I'll get us out of here. Geordi tells me the engines should be good for a few hours of warp eight point eight now. Repairs are continuing, of course." There was no more talk until the turbolift stopped on Deck twelve, but as Picard stepped out into the corridor Riker said: „Sleep well, sir" before he added: „Bridge."

Beverly Crusher was looking a little fagged the captain thought, but her manner was brisk and professional. Sickbay was busier than usual, with staff darting to and fro and the subdued babble of several conversations filling the air, but she found them a quiet corner in the primary ward, brought a glass of water for each of them and told Worf to wait while she ran her tricorder over the captain. „I have people working half-shifts at the moment," she explained, frowning at the readouts. „I need my staff, but they need to rest. Doctor Hill stood in for me for a few hours, fortunately... dear _God_." She reached out towards a table and picked a hypospray. „Well, Jean-Luc, I won't plague you right now. Selar's given you the facts in a nutshell. _I'll_ just give you a couple of injections. The burns are healing, but you'll have to see me again later on. To make sure there is no scar tissue, for one." She put the hypospray down, reached for her tricorder again and turned to Worf, her eyes narrowing. „That looks like a phaser graze on your cheek, Lieutenant. And by the way, how is your arm doing? And... Worf, do you realize you have two cracked ribs on top of everything else?"

„See to the captain, Doctor," replied Worf haughtily, his tone leaving no doubt that he had not forgiven, and would take his time doing so.

Beverly Crusher's eyebrows climbed towards her hairline. „I'm quite capable of deciding on my priorities, Lieutenant. Right now it's your arm I want to see," she replied firmly. „And your nose. I can tell both of you straight away what I'll prescribe, though."

„Eight hours' uninterrupted rest?" asked Picard.

"No," said Crusher, checking the tricorder again. "As far as _you_ are concerned, twelve. And I expect you both to comply with it. In fact I think I really should keep you here, but... Ah, yes, thank you, Céline" – this to an attractive young woman who deposited a small tray next to her, and left. The doctor took a hypospray from the tray. "I've had this – "

The intercom sprang to life before she could finish her sentence. „Bridge to Captain Picard."

Over Crusher's exasperated sigh Picard tapped his communicator. „Yes, Number One."

„Everybody safely aboard, sir. The _Haklamar_ is already moving off. We're retrieving those probes right now – not that they're any use at this stage, but we don't want to leave any more traces than necessary. We won't know if the Cardassians are giving chase until we're well away from this nebula, and there's a distinct possibility they'll notice us. But with a little luck they won't be able to get a useful ID."

„Well done, Number One. Carry on. I want to be notified of any crises, though, Will."

"Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind. Riker out."

"And what," demanded Beverly Crusher sharply, "do you think you're doing, Captain? I believe I just said –"

"I know what you said, Doctor." Picard looked up to meet her gaze; he was finding it increasingly difficult to remain focused enough to answer. "You will have to forgive me for being on my guard a little, however. Now, you were saying about that hypo?"

A short silence. "Very well," she said then, looking down on the hypospray in her hand as if she had momentarily forgotten about its existence. "I was about to say that I had this made up after being told by Will that under the circumstances I _shouldn't_ keep you in sickbay, one of his reasons being that you might be required on the bridge at very short notice. There were others I won't bother you with now. I won't hide from you that I disagree with him, Captain, but he made it very clear that pulling rank in this case wouldn't be appreciated. Allow me."

She put the hypo to his neck, and he heard the familiar hiss. "That's a sedative, among other things," she said. "You'd do well to be off to your quarters, Jean-Luc. Remember to get a drink of something – tea, water, whatever. That's doctor's orders. And as for you, Worf –"

„I should see to the security measures myself," said Worf, frowning.

„No, Worf. You won't." Picard looked at his CMO as if waiting for something.

„That's all for now, Captain," she said gently.

**- - - - - -**

Several hours later, Chief Engineer La Forge slumped against the central control table in Main Engineering and said: „Okay. That'll do it for now. Oakey, I'm declaring this shift over. Russell, whatever it is you're doing there, finish it and go away."

„One second, Commander." Engineer Russell, on his knees in front of an open panel, delicately adjusted another strand of optical cable. „Lieutenant Worf has been very thorough."

„He is that. Walser, how are things coming along?"

Ensign Walser, on loan from Lieutenant Singh, looked up from his console and tried to stifle a yawn. „Battle bridge Tactical almost there, sir. They're testing computer responses now. The new control surface should come next. Ops will take a little longer."

„No surprise there," muttered Geordi, frowning as he tried to get some order into jumbled memories that seemed to be slipping away even as he was reviewing them. This was a bad one – consoles disintegrating under steady phaser fire. He loved his ship. He'd honestly wanted to protect his ship – if only he could recall what from. Some perceived danger. The Cardassians? The – _hell_, he thought, wincing – the captain? „Walser," he said, abruptly, „what were we doing on the battle bridge? I mean, what were we going to _do_?"

Walser turned, frowning as well. „Frankly, Commander, I don't really know. I suppose I had some idea then. You wanted the engineering hull for some purpose, but it's all a bit foggy right now. Wait, Lieutenant Singh said something about making sure the Cardassians don't get their hands on Federation technology."

„That sounds about right. And then the captain walked in on us, didn't he."

„Actually, I wasn't there when he did," said Walser apologetically. „You called us in – we were checking out something, some – "

„Christ, yes. Uh-oh – I remember _that_ bit." _Wish I didn't_, he added to himself as fragments of it came back. That frightful mess – wanting to get away, fired by some purpose he couldn't recall, ready... no, _eager_ to kick away anything that might still keep him back. Frenzy, euphoria – an aggressive kind. And some recollection almost too frightening to contemplate – something about the captain. An impression of fury and determination he had never before encountered in his life, searing him; a fading memory of spite, a wish to subdue, and coming up against something like steel. Like duranium. „We fought," he said abruptly, horrified. „I didn't hurt him, did I? Didn't he knock me out?"

„Well, sort of, I think. Worf did the rest, actually. I wonder how he managed."

„Worf?"

„Oh, I know how _he_ manages, all right. No, the captain. Hell," said Walser thoughtfully, by all appearances actually relishing the memory, „the man's a fighter."

Geordi slid off the control table. „I'll be on the bridge," he announced to everybody within hearing. „Get yourselves off to bed as soon as your replacements show up, for Heaven's sake. For the record, I've some apologizing to do."

But Commander Riker, whom he found in possession, would have none of it. „Look here, Geordi. You can't apologize to _me_. I've been acting the same way – well, almost. And you had a better excuse. It did get rid of your headaches, didn't it?"

„Well, yes," said Geordi. „It did that. It got rid of a lot of other things as well," he added with a grimace. „Kind of embarrassing. Commander, aren't you going to turn in as well? Just sent most of my staff off to get some rest, and you look as if you could do with it too."

Riker yawned profusely. „Can't. Not yet, anyway. Have to be sure we're rid of those two Cardassian ships, at least. I may just go for a walk instead. Have a look at the security arrangements..." He heaved himself out of the command chair and took a look round. Macaulay was at Tactical, Westaway was manning the conn. Data was in the Ops chair, looking mildly interested in something on his console. Stars were streaking towards the main viewer. Involuntarily, Riker breathed a sigh of contentment. „Come on, Geordi, let's get going. You have the bridge, Data."

**- - - - - - - -**


	27. Chapter 27

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 26**

Picard woke in the near-darkness of his quarters, slowly, opening his eyes and trying to get his bearings. There were stars streaking past overhead. He was feeling foggy and a little disoriented, and when he pushed himself up on one elbow he realized that he must have been sleeping for hours while his ship was pulling itself together. He remembered, vaguely, getting into bed; he had no idea of the time that had passed since then. He only knew that he was feeling tired in a way he hadn't felt earlier, too tired almost to respond to the page.

"Yes. Picard here."

"Sir," said Riker's voice, "I'm truly sorry to disturb you, but I have Doctor Maruk on subspace. He's been talking to Troi, and she put him through to me, but I really think you're the one to handle this."

"Doctor Maruk?" _Doctor Maruk. The device_. "One moment. You're quite right, Will, I'll take it." He was slipping out of bed and draping a bathrobe about himself as he spoke, using the seconds to pull himself together. There was a jug of water on a table beneath the window, and a half-empty glass; he took a quick swallow on his way to the door. The lights in the living room came on obediently as he went over to his desk, swiveling the small monitor towards himself. "Patch him through."

The face that appeared on the screen was less sharp-angled than a Vulcan's, and much less inscrutable. It was a handsome face in its way, its descent still unmistakable – but there was a slightly worried look on that face. The expression was not what the captain had been expecting to see. But then he did not really know what he had been expecting.

"Captain Picard – " Was there a hint of defensiveness in the voice?

"Yes, Doctor. How can I help you?"

"Just... Captain, I am getting the impression that I may unwittingly have caused some misunderstanding. I originally wanted to talk to Counselor Troi, but somehow she... well, she decided to put me through to your first officer. She appeared quite upset. Your first officer refused to elaborate. Now I fear something has gone wrong. To be honest, I am a little worried. Could you enlighten me?"

"In fact, Doctor," said Picard, carefully, "I would like you to enlighten _me_ first. I take it you are referring to the device you gave to Counselor Troi. May I ask your reasons for leaving it with her in the first place?"

"It was a gift among colleagues, Captain. We had been comparing notes about our work, and I was quite certain that in the environment of a starship it could prove invaluable. In fact it was developed with a view to just such an environment. Not a starship necessarily, but certainly a self-selected group with a common purpose such as a starship 's crew. I had considered giving it a first large-scale try at the Fragan VI summit, but on encountering the people your _Enterprise_ was transporting I decided that the mix might be a little too diverse. As it has since proved, I must admit." Maruk frowned slightly, recollecting. Picard said nothing, not quite sure of what he had just heard. After a moment the scientist continued: "From Counselor Troi's reactions – and, in fact, from those of Commander Riker – I must assume that something untoward has happened. I have been trying to contact her for some time now, but your ship has been out of range of subspace radio. You'll understand that I am somewhat concerned."

"Concerned about what, Doctor? About what might have happened aboard my ship once you had planted that thing among my crew, and left?"

"Captain, I am sorry, but I didn't _plant_ anything. I gave it to Counselor Troi with a full description of its purpose and workings. Please try to see my point – it represents years of research. It would be a horrible setback if the responses I observed on Fragan VI were to prove the rule. Could you just let me know if Counselor Troi passed it on as she said she would, and how your crew reacted to it?"

"I certainly can," replied Picard, and his voice must have slipped somewhat because he could see Maruk drawing back a little. "I take it the _Enterprise_ promised to be a more suitable Petri dish. Well, as it happens my ship proved the perfect microcosm to test your theories, Doctor. My crew took to your device as readily as you could have wished. They went from euphoria to utter indifference towards their duty to random violence. I have seen the finest crew I ever knew disintegrate into anarchic chaos within a few days. I have lost three of my people to your little experiment, and I hold you personally responsible for their deaths. So you see, Doctor, I really cannot spare much concern for the setback your work may have suffered. To tell you the truth, I couldn't care less." The captain paused for breath. There was a stinging behind his eyelids now. Tears of rage, of desperate regret, of sheer helplessness, who could tell. Myers. Benedetto. Storgat. So utterly, utterly pointless. Maruk was looking stunned, as if he literally didn't trust his ears – as if nothing in the universe could have prepared him for this. Then, slowly, indignation took over.

"Captain, this is... I am truly sorry for this tragic incident, but you must realize that nothing could have been further from my intentions. Counselor Troi may have mentioned my field of study to you. Please believe me, I sympathize with you. But really, blaming me for what was in effect a combination of unfortunate events – "

"I don't give a damn about your intentions!" Picard heard his own voice rise in volume, and broke off abruptly to get a grip on himself. After a couple of deep breaths, he continued more calmly. "Doctor, none of this will bring my people back to life. And I am very much afraid that none of this will teach you a sense of responsibility. Unfortunately it is beyond my powers to put a curb on your activities. The only thing I can do is to make sure the Vulcan Science Academy receives a report, and you may take my word for it that I will. Beyond that I really have nothing to discuss with you. Picard out."

He actually sat for a minute with his face in his hands after the screen had gone black – getting his heart rate down to normal, trying to put things into perspective. _He meant no harm_. It didn't work. The horror and fury were too real, and went too deep. _All of it – _all_ of it – for that_. In the end he got to his feet rather abruptly, showered and shaved and dressed, remembered to get a croissant and some coffee from the replicator and left his quarters. There could be no question of rest now. He wanted to see how his crew was doing. And there were a few things left for him to see to.

**- - - - - - - - - **

Sickbay was looking much more normal by now. People were moving about with an air of calm efficiency. A quick look into the primary ward revealed three vacant biobeds, and a crewman perched on the fourth, chatting animatedly with two nurses. And Beverly Crusher was sitting in her office, tapping a rhythm on her desk with a stylus while she was frowning over her monitor. It took her a few seconds to become aware of his presence, but when she finally did her smile was radiant.

"Now who would have thought it. You're not coming for that medical check-up by any chance?"

"No indeed," said Picard. "We can do that later. How is my crew, Doctor?"

Crusher rested her chin on her joined hands, stylus dangling between two fingers. "It's a gift," she said with an air of mild incredulity, to no one in particular. "Now I _know_ we're back to normal. Your crew is – " She broke off rather abruptly. He saw an odd expression flitting over her face. Then she put the stylus down. "Captain, there is something... something you'll be glad to hear. It's Storgat." She was smiling now. „He'll be all right I think. I shouldn't have thought it possible, not after we lost the stasis chambers... must be something about the Bolian constitution. We're having another nervous breakdown now, of course – Céline just collapsed when Doctor Hill told her. I can't tell for certain yet, but I really believe Storgat will make a full recovery. I'll keep you informed."

"Good," said Picard after a moment, feeling his own face lighting up in turn. "That's... that's a comfort. Just now – " He drew a deep breath. „I _am_ glad," he managed finally.

"Deanna is back on duty at her own request. I've told her to take it easy for a day or two. I'm treating her for fatigue, Geordi for headaches, dizziness and similar complaints, Will for a slight concussion, and Worf for a _lot_ of minor injuries when I can get hold of him. I would have liked to take Geordi off duty, but he wouldn't hear of it, if you can imagine _that_. Most people are physically fine now, but I'm sure Deanna will have her hands full very soon. There _is_ a general feeling of exhaustion. By the way, how are you, Jean-Luc?"

"I'm all right. It's about time I caught up on all the work."

"You'll take it easy too, Captain. And I have more than half a mind to insist on that physical right here and now."

"You won't," he said, and although he said it with a smile she bit her lip and refrained from comment. "I really just wanted to have alook in, see how things are going."

"Well, there's something else," she said, and he knew immediately that the next piece of news would not be good news. Beverly Crusher drew an audible breath. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather tell you now – before everything is looking so normal again that I'm beginning to wonder if I should tell you at all." Another pause. "Remember when you asked me whether or not Myers had been wearing the device when he was taken to sickbay? And I told you he hadn't? Yes, he'd been acting irresponsibly, and yes, he had pushed up his big-game hunting program to maximum difficulty, but no, he wasn't wearing the device when I saw him after the accident?" She paused again, her face set.

"Yes?" prompted the captain, feeling a knot of apprehension forming in the pit of his stomach.

She took one look at him – and smiled, very briefly, without joy. "It's not quite as bad as that, Jean-Luc. I didn't lie to you, exactly. Only... One of my med techs had found the device on the holodeck floor when he went back to look for clues."

"I see."

"I don't think I would have lied. I sincerely hope I wouldn't have. But you never asked _that_ question, of course."

"I see," Picard said again.

"I am sorry. I'm sorry for the way I acted – more than I could possibly say. I thought it was for the best – or at least, that's what I told myself. I'm not too sure about it now. And you don't even know the whole of it. I'll – "

The captain winced. "Please. Beverly, I don't really want to know. I'll have to go over the reports at some stage, you know." He managed a shrug. „Let's just get on with things for the moment, shall we?"

"I feel awful," she said candidly.

"Yes, but..." He drew a breath; this time, his smile came more easily. "You still kept this place together. You acted in the best interests of the crew as you perceived them. I've just been treated to something quite different – God knows I have reason to be grateful." A tiny pause. "We managed, Beverly."

"Yes." For a few seconds she looked as if she would have liked to add something more; then she shook her head. "Be off to your bridge, Captain. I'll have a look at you later."

He nodded and left, feeling her eyes following him.

Riker was in the center chair, talking animatedly with Troi. They both got to their feet when Picard made his way down the ramp. Worf, towering over the central well, squared his shoulders and inclined his head in a very Klingon salute on meeting the captain's eyes. Picard looked from one face to the next, frowning slightly.

"Anything unusual, Number One?"

"Depends, sir." Riker's grin was both amused and decidedly wry. "Still on course. All systems normal. No trouble with the Cardassians. If you'd like to call any of this unusual..." Picard shook his head and made for his chair. But he hadn't reached it when Troi said: "Could I speak with you in private for a minute, Captain?"

_Not another apology_, Picard found himself thinking. "Counselor, if this can – "

"I'd really appreciate it, sir."

"Very well," said the captain, leading the way to his ready room.

The first thing he noticed was the stack of padds on his desk. The second was an empty tea mug on the stand that held his model of the _Stargazer_. There was a neatly folded blanket on the sofa, and the desk monitor had been swiveled towards one of the chairs in front of the desk – as if somebody had been taking a call from there. By his standards, the room was shockingly untidy. Picard took the mug in passing and deposited it in the replicator before he slid into his chair. "Yes, what is it?"

Troi took a chair opposite. She was looking a little pale he realized now – a little hollow-eyed, although her hair and make-up were flawless as usual. And she evidently didn't know how to begin – which in itself was most unusual.

"Beverly tells me you asked to be returned to duty," he said carefully after a few moments. "Do you think that is wise, Deanna?"

She looked up at that, an amused twinkle in her eye. "That, from you, Captain, is... let's just say that I shouldn't even dignify that with an answer. But in fact I do. There are people who are in worse shape than I am; I can't abandon them. At the very least I had to speak with Lieutenant Rickett."

He frowned. "Rickett?"

Troi shook her head. "You'll find it in the reports, Captain. Or if you like, I'll tell you. But that's not what I wanted to see you about. And isn't there something _you_ would like to ask _me_?"

He nodded. "Very well then, Counselor. How is my crew?"

"Your crew, Captain, is recovering – at least, most of them are. I haven't had much time to speak to individuals yet, but there is a general feeling of... dismay, for lack of a better word, at the things that were said and done, and in some cases just _thought_, perhaps. For the moment I should say the shock runs quite deep. – I should point out," she added quietly, "that I am speaking in the capacity not only of the observer but of the observed as well here. To get back to the issue, that also means that for the moment very few people are likely to try those devices again – although I cannot rule out the possibility that some of them may do it once the memory begins to fade. And I think it likely that some members of your crew may seek a reassignment. Not just to distance themselves from it all but also because... well, because of the things that were said and done." For a moment her expression was almost bitter. "Pursuing what one believes to be one's heart's desire can result in fairly ugly behavior. And believe me, Captain, I would prefer not to have to say that."

He nodded again, curtly. "Point taken, Counselor. We'll speak again later. And now for the reason you did want to see me about."

She met his eyes at that, her nod matching his. "Doctor Maruk," she said flatly. "I suppose he told you what he had told me. I can't let it pass just like that."

"What he told me was that he gave that thing to you to pass on to others, with the idea that you would provide him with feedback regarding the results. Apparently he tried something similar at that conference on Fragan VI, and found that it didn't work out as expected."

"Yes. He was going to tell me about it. I told him that I really didn't have the time to listen to this – that I was busy picking up the pieces – and patched him through to Will instead." Troi was looking down on her hands. "Not a very professional response."

"It really was an accident, then." His voice was still toneless in his own ears. "Just that – an accident."

"Yes," Troi said softly. "An unfortunate combination of circumstances. It would never have come to all that if we hadn't been isolated in this nebula for days, waiting for Dravek. But then of course it wouldn't have come to it if I had been aware of the fact that Doctor Maruk was really still experimenting, or if he had been a little less irresponsible in his methods. I have a feeling you told him as much, Captain."

"I am afraid I was less sympathetic than he had been expecting. I'm – " He interrupted himself with a brief grimace. "As if you didn't know. I was furious. I'm still rather... upset. But whatever he may have thought and done wasn't your fault. And while I'm under the impression that you are rather unimpressed with his attitude as well" – Troi gave a soft snort – "I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice someone you obviously both liked and respected to _my_ feelings."

"Yes, Captain. I did." She put a slight but telling emphasis on the verb. "But when he called me about an hour ago the only thing that interested him was the success or failure of his device. He was as enthusiastic as ever, just a little concerned and disappointed that it hadn't worked out for everybody. When I tried to make matters clear to him he said how sorry he was to have caused me trouble or grief. _Me_!" She drew a deep breath, drawing herself up a little at the same time. "Captain, I've never met anyone of Betazoid descent who was so utterly oblivious of the effect he was having. There was no getting through to him. When I passed him on to Will I just didn't know what to do with him. Captain, I'm not _sacrificing_ him, or any feelings I may have for him. I am simply appalled. He was honest enough back then – enthusiastic and guileless. He was utterly convinced that his device would prove a success, and a blessing for all who used it – I would have noticed if he hadn't been. But I failed to notice the ruthlessness underneath, the selfish irresponsibility. I should have been more perceptive. As it is, I accepted his device, and his assurances, and everything else, and you know what happened. I have to take some of that responsibility."

"Maybe, Counselor. All of us. But... " Picard was silent for a few moments, trying to sort through the implications. "Look, I haven't had much time to think about it. But just because you see more, you can't blame yourself for not seeing everything. You sincerely believed there was no danger. There was no reason why you shouldn't have. _He_ knew it was a shot in the dark. He simply used my ship as a Petri dish – and he certainly didn't offer to take the responsibility the way all of my officers did."

"But you didn't fall for it in the first place, sir," she said, quite softly.

He found himself looking down. "My experiences may have been influencing my judgment. It happens, Deanna."

"Captain." The reproach was gentle but unmistakable. He looked up to find a tiny smile quivering on her face. "I suppose I deserved that," she said.

"I have been lucky."_ We all have_. "I'll call a briefing later. Let's just give ourselves a little time, shall we?"

"As ship's counselor, I'll want to see you about all of this, Captain."

"You will," he promised. "If that is all – "

"No. There's more." She straightened in her chair, the smile gone. "That evening you came to me, and we had that horrible discussion, and you left."

"Yes?" he said, wincing a little in apprehension.

"You went to your quarters, and afterwards... Captain, I felt what you were going through. I _knew_, and I never tried to help." There was pain in her face now. "I thought it was worth it. You'd come round, and understand, and everything would be justified. _Nothing_ could have justified that. And please don't tell me it's all right. It'll be some time before I forgive myself for that. If you won't accept anything else, at least accept my personal apologies."

"If you insist." Picard found himself smiling a little – as if something in him had only just realized that it was well and truly over now. And like some nightmares, it was beginning to fade. "In fact, I have to thank you – all of you. You never really let go. I don't know – "

He was interrupted in midsentence by a voice from the intercom grid. "Bridge to Captain."

"Yes, Lieutenant," said Picard with a certain amount of relief.

"Sir," said Worf, the underlying growl implying both mistrust and disapproval, "Gul Dravek is asking your permission to speak with you in private."

**- - - - - - - - - - - -**


	28. Chapter 28

**SHIP OF FOOLS**

**Chapter 27**

"Well, Lieutenant," replied Picard, „perhaps you could escort him to my ready room."

"Yes, Captain." There was an added element of resignation in the voice now. Troi was looking faintly amused, as if she had noticed the change in tone as well.

"Tell me," said Picard quickly, „has Commander Riker found out anything about him?"

"As far as I know he didn't try, Captain. I don't believe he would have had the time. I do know that Admiral Juarez called once, asking the same question, and Will put him off. Apparently he told him that you were resting, and that you would be in contact as soon as we had sorted out _the worst of the mess_, or something along those lines."

"Oh dear," muttered Picard.

"Yes," agreed Troi with a quick sympathetic smile. "It wasn't a long conversation."

"I see," Picard said dryly. "No doubt I'll be hearing from the admiral quite soon, then. I'll _definitely_ call a briefing later... Well, let's hope that man justifies all the trouble we've gone to."

Troi stood. „You won't be needing me during this, Captain?"

"Personally, I wouldn't mind your presence at all. But I have a feeling that he does mean in private."

"So have I." She left with another smile at him, and a couple of minutes later the door chime announced Worf and the Cardassian.

Gul Dravek appeared serene and undaunted, and took the chair Picard indicated with a gracious little nod of thanks. Worf remained a moment longer than usual, saying pointedly and rather unnecessarily: "I will be on the bridge, Captain," and left. The door swished shut in his wake.

"Well," said Picard. "I am listening."

"First of all, I would like to thank you, Captain – on behalf of all of us. I am quite aware that you don't trust me, of course. I truly appreciate it that we are here despite that fact."

"In that case I am glad we waited for you as long as we did, of course," replied Picard dryly. "You did take your time turning up for the meeting you had initiated, Gul Dravek."

"Through no choice of mine, I assure you. I don't know if you have heard, Captain – my contact was murdered before we could arrange the details. I knew then that part at least of my plan was known. We have been lying low since then, in a place my colleagues appear not to be aware of, fortunately. I knew that I would have to return to visibility eventually, but I wanted to make sure you would be there by then, to reduce the time I would have to remain visible as much as possible. As you saw, I arrived only just ahead of our mutual friends out there." He paused to observe Picard's expression. "You appear to have your doubts, Captain."

"Naturally," said Picard. "But then maybe you'll be wanting to tell me _why_ you are here. It might alleviate a considerable part of my doubts. I assume that's why you wanted to see me."

"In part." Dravek gave one of his brief, rather menacing smiles. "You see, Captain, in some respects I am as good as dead. Things on Cardassia Prime would have to change considerably before I could return home, and I am not sufficiently naïve to believe that I'd be particularly safe abroad even if the Federation was to grant me asylum. And I have to admit, when I realized that Starfleet had sent you of all people I was tempted to turn and run. Yes, as you have already guessed, I have heard all about that rather unfortunate business of Minos Korva, and Celtris III. Frankly, I am... surprised, Captain. You said that you are authorized to use your own discretion. Would you go one step further under the right circumstances, then, and put in a word for me?"

"That depends. You see, I still know nothing about you."

"If you'll allow, I am going to rectify that now."

Picard silently motioned him to go on.

"As I said before, I have been working for the Obsidian Order. You will have heard that the Order and Central Command are not on the best of terms – I'm sure that is common knowledge –, but the truth is that they need each other. There would be quite enough public discontent to upset the government if it were not for the Order. Unfortunately, with time I have come to the conclusion that some of it at least is perfectly justified. Obviously this put me into a somewhat uncomfortable position. And obviously I was not going to join the dissident movement, engage in pointless heroics undermining my homeworld's social structure, and end up being executed for my troubles. I would like to see the Union minding its own business for a while – sorting out its internal problems. As your superiors will no doubt be delighted to hear, even though they should have a notion of it by now – they are substantial, and would be the better for some sorting. And as for the Order itself... Let's just say that by now war has become an end in itself to many high-ranking Cardassians. War has made us great no doubt, but if we go on like this it will ruin us. Personally, I don't believe we would survive another large-scale war with the Federation. Many of my peers disagree." Dravek smiled again, tensely. „What it comes to is that I am trying to readjust the balance very slightly in the Federation's favor – just enough to discourage this talk of a first strike. And I believe I am in a position to do it. Then of course, once I have done it I will be at the mercy of your Starfleet. I'm an officer, Captain, I can take the consequences – but I have a responsibility towards my crew and the civilians I brought along. So I ask you again, would you be willing to put in a word for me?"

"It's still rather early to be asking me that question, don't you think?" replied Picard neutrally. "If you are what you say you are, I might consider it – but I'll make no promises at this point."

Dravek studied him for a long moment, thoughtfully, as if weighing his impressions. "You still don't trust me," he said, sounding entirely unsurprised.

"You are quite right. I don't. I really cannot imagine you expected me to, on the strength of an explanation like the one you just gave me." Picard sat forward, hands locked on his desk. "Then again, it _is_ within my powers to grant you political asylum, provisionally at least, and I have done it. Obviously my recommendation will be to look into your story very carefully, whatever the full version of it will turn out to be. After that it rests with Starfleet Intelligence. Obviously again, I am neither qualified nor competent to decide the question of whether or not to act on your advice – whatever _that_ will turn out to be. You see, I simply don't know enough about it all."

Gul Dravek leaned forward in his chair. "Perhaps you don't, at the moment, but you know something else. This peace is quite simply in the best interests of both our nations. I have given up everything for it, and now I happen to run into you. Wouldn't you agree that it would be... well, let's say the consistent thing for you to do, to help me put this to Starfleet? I can't believe that you wouldn't be willing to go to the trouble."

"The trouble or the risk, Gul Dravek? You haven't even convinced _me_ so far. You haven't even _tried_ to convince me. What makes you think I'd be willing to risk anything – the most minute aspect of Federation security – by helping you convince Starfleet Intelligence?"

Dravek looked at him out of slightly narrowed eyes. "Believe it or not, Captain, you have a reputation. I don't mind telling you that I'm proceeding on the assumption here that this reputation matches the facts. I don't know where exactly you are taking us, but from what your first officer told me it will be a few days before you can hand me over to any authority whatsoever. You're quite right, I haven't even tried to convince you so far. But perhaps you will grant me another opportunity to speak during those days. I might just try it then."

"Perhaps I will," agreed Picard, lightly. "For the moment, though, I must ask you to allow me to return to my work. We developed a number of technical problems while waiting for you in that nebula."

"I understand. Thank you for hearing me out so far, Captain."

"You are quite welcome. – Picard to Lieutenant Worf. Would you accompany our guest back to his quarters?"

He sat quietly for a few seconds after Worf had left with the Cardassian, and then he got to his feet and went over to the replicator for some Earl Grey tea, smiling slightly to himself without being aware of it. Afterwards he sank back into his chair with a profound sense of relief. He was _still_ tired he realized. But there was more to it than that. A kind of serenity, of confidence, of – could it be that? – accomplishment.

It was much too early to tell, of course. But then, it _was_ quite a journey to Starbase 109.

He had actually closed his eyes when the door alarm chimed again. "Come," he said, knowing perfectly well who was outside.

"Everything all right, Captain?" asked Riker.

"Yes. Yes, everything's all right."

The first officer looked at him searchingly. "Must have been an interesting conversation."

"Preliminary sparring is the term I might have used. But yes, it was." Picard reached for his mug, looking up at Riker with faint amusement. Will was positively radiating curiosity. "In effect, he asked me to back him. He wants me to believe that he sacrificed everything in order to preserve the balance of power, and thus prevent a new war."

"And do you believe it?" asked Riker, quietly.

"So far? No, of course not – I am merely interested. Willing to keep an open mind. Not entirely averse to the thought of being convinced, if you like. He thinks he could convince me of his bona fides if I gave him a chance. Of course, if I was to mess it up it's entirely possible Starfleet will still decide that those wide-ranging discretionary powers have been severely misplaced, isn't it?"

Riker's mouth twitched slightly. "Yes, Captain."

Picard looked down at the mug he was holding in both hands. "You know, Will, I wonder if I am being influenced by recent experiences. Reverse psychology, possibly. This Doctor Maruk... I've had too much dodging of responsibility today."

Riker edged closer, sliding into his own chair with barely a sound.

"I suppose it is just possible that the man did sacrifice everything he had and risked not just himself but a number of other people – people close to him – for the sake of something that he believes has to be done. Just... a possibility. One that I am going to entertain with the utmost caution, naturally."

Riker said nothing, did not even give a nod that might have interrupted the captain's train of thought.

"I would like to feel that all of this has been worth it, in some way. Just now I almost did. Then of course, it hardly matters what I would like to feel. But if this man is telling the truth..." He frowned a little. Riker waited quietly.

"How long to Starbase 109, again?" the captain asked after a few seconds of unbroken silence.

"About sixty-nine hours at warp five."

„I see."

Riker got to his feet. "I'll be on the bridge if you want me, Captain. Let you mull it over in peace."

"No," said Picard, rising. „That won't be necessary. I'm coming too."

**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - **

(The End)

Author's Notes/Postscript:

By now I think I owe everybody here a bit of an explanation.

As several people have pointed out, the plot of _Ship of Fools_ is somewhat reminiscent of the episode _The Game_. They were right on target, of course. That's because _The Game_ was one of the... inspirations behind SoF back then. I loathed _The Game_. I loathed the implications. I loathed the fact that those fine, noble, intelligent people came over as dim, weak-willed, pathetic fools. _Yerch_. You'd think that at the very least Picard and Worf wouldn't want anything to do with the wretched thing in the first place – Worf because he's too arrogant, too suspicious and too anti-fun and Picard because he's too much of an intellectual snob and too protective of his mental integrity, for lack of a better word. Not to mention too traumatized. And if everybody else was to succumb to such a device they would have to have a decent reason at least. Voilà – _Ship of Fools_ in a nutshell. It took off from there.

That's that out of the way. Now for the more important bit.

**Thank you all** for the wonderful comments and feedback, and the time you spent writing them! This has been incredibly enjoyable and inspiring. As Worf would say, I am honored. Very much so. Thank you.

And finally, there's another, shorter novel lurking on my hard drive. It, too, is several years old, and it may need a more thorough revision that SoF did. I'm thinking of uploading it, but the breaks between chapters may be longer. And it's a very different type of story too. If you want to stay with me, you'll see what I mean. Don't say I didn't warn you, though.

And for right now – wishing you a wonderful, peaceful, successful New Year 2007. May it turn out to be everything everybody is most hoping for.


End file.
